A Mind of His Own
by Jordan Trevor
Summary: Someone is lost on an away mission. Even if he finds his way home, will he be able to find himself?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This is a story that I've had on my computer and on bits and pieces of paper for years – maybe decades! I recently rediscovered it and thought I'd start posting some chapters. Thanks for reading and reviewing! JT

**Disclaimer:** The crew of the _Enterprise_ doesn't belong to me.

The light above the bed stayed on, kept the shadows, both real and imagined, at bay. The low murmur of activity behind her remained separate from their small world, the few square feet that belonged to just the two of them, even though she was the only one aware of it. Hours passed, like minutes. Nurses and doctors would appear on the other side of the bed, check vital signs, ask questions, make assurances. And then leave. But she stayed, always there, like the light, guarding against shadows and nightmares.

At times, she felt his fear, as only she could feel it. From deep in his mind, it touched deep into hers, and it was a silent struggle to calm the rising emotions, ease the pain, comfort the lost child he'd become. And all of this while he slept, oblivious to his surroundings, unknowing of her presence, aware of only the dark, the night, the memories of what had happened to him. To them both. Whatever that was.

Deanna Troi didn't know. She'd reached as deeply as she could into Will Riker's sub-conscious, but the soft, insistent touch of her own mind had been buffeted back by the tide of pain and fear that swelled within him. The memories were his, and he could not, would not share them. And so, he slept while she waited and watched.

~vVv~

She was there when he slowly began to wake, felt the stirring in his mind, the reaching towards consciousness, the effort it took to push past the layers of fear that surrounded him. He moved, shifted, stiff arms and legs rustling the sheet that covered his body. And he groaned softly, small sounds of discomfort, tears escaping still closed eyes. Gently, Deanna wiped them away, then laced her fingers around his, held his hand securely. "I'm here, Will," she whispered, her mind echoing the words. _I'm here._

The muscles in his face twitched, hardened along his jawline, relaxed. He swallowed deeply, his throat convulsing, and then, ever so slowly, his eyelids opened, dark, damp eyelashes fluttering, eyes squinting slightly from the light. "Deanna?" he breathed.

She leaned closer to him. "I'm right here, Will." Tenderly, she pressed her lips against his cheek, just above his beard, close to his left temple.

The corners of his lips turned up in a slight smile. "That... tickles"

Deanna exhaled a deep breath, relieved at the sound of his voice. "I'm sorry."

"No... It's all right." He swallowed again, glancing over at her, a familiar, mischievous glint in his eyes. "I like it."

She smiled and kissed him once more, allowed her lips to linger against the pale overly warm skin. "I love you, Will," she murmured, breathing in the scent of him, the muskiness that was still there despite days in an antiseptic sickbay.

"Love you, too," he returned, mustering a broader smile that quickly faded. Worried blue eyes squinted up at her, but the concern so evident in them was not for himself. "How... how is he?" he managed, though every gasp of breath was a struggle for him.

Deanna lightly brushed her other hand over his forehead, careful of the bruises and bandages. "Shh," she soothed, hesitating with her answer. _Oh, Will._

_Tell me._ "Deanna?" He winced around another painful swallow.

"He's fine," she replied, touching his cheek, fingers caressing his beard. "And you're going to be fine, too, Will." _Just fine._

He shook his head, tried to sit up, groaning with the effort.

Deanna placed a hand tenderly on his shoulder, felt him trembling, held him still. "Don't move," she said, her tone firm, but gentle. "You need to rest. Sleep's the best thing for you right now_." Sleep, imzadi. Just sleep._

Will sighed. He was tired; his eyes felt heavy, and he could barely concentrate on Deanna's voice. But for a moment, he fought the soothing darkness that was creeping in on all sides of his vision. He tightened his fingers around Deanna's hand, felt her fingers tighten as well. "He's all right?" he whispered, needing to be reassured again, wanting to hear the words so that he could allow the shadows to envelope him.

"Yes," Deanna answered, but then quickly looked away.

Will felt a sense of panic rise inside him. _No._ Something didn't feel right. He heard Deanna's words, but for the first time in his life, he didn't believe them.

_Imzadi._ "Deanna..." _Please._

She turned her gaze back to him. "Go to sleep, Will."

He heard the hiss of a hypospray against his neck, and the last thing he saw was Deanna Troi's dark eyes filling, unmistakably, with tears.

~vVv~


	2. Chapter 2

Beverly Crusher sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed in the captain's quarters. _My quarters now,_ she thought as her tear-filled eyes fell upon her own belongings scattered among Jean-Luc's. Her first pair of tap shoes sat on the shelf, bookends to his leather bound copies of Shakespeare and Dickens. Her twentieth century stethoscope shared the same space as his antique ship's compass. A picture of Wesley was propped on the bedside table next to a portrait of Jean-Luc's parents. And on the chair, her emerald green robe lay draped over his beige one, just where they'd left them, where they always left them. New, familiar habits.

Closing her eyes, she hugged the pillow she was holding closer, buried her face in it. _Jean-Luc._ It was his pillow, and the sleepy early morning smell of him still clung to it, brought back her memories of a few days ago.

_The sound was a part of her dream, a distant ringing, there for an instant, and then gone. She would have totally ignored it if she hadn't felt the warmth of his body pulling away from her._

_"Don't go," she murmured, drawing him back, nestling her head in the curve of his shoulder, her cheek resting on his bare chest. She felt his hand on her neck, his fingers playing gently through her hair._

_"I have to go," he breathed into her ear with a sigh._

_"Um-um." She tightened her hold on him, her hands running over firm, taut muscles. "Tell them you're sick. I know where you can get a note from your doctor."_

_His chest shook with silent laughter. "The offer is tempting." She felt his lips against her cheek. "But I really must go." He pulled out of her arms, and she opened her eyes, gazed up at him. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling down at her, his face lined with sleep. And he spoke the very thought she was thinking. "Have I ever told you how beautiful you look in the morning?"_

_She stretched and brushed her hair from her eyes. "And you're still leaving me?"_

_"Not by choice," he answered remorsefully._

_Beverly sat up, the sheet falling away from her shoulders. She placed one hand on his arm, her fingers teasing along his skin, while the fingers of her other hand traced the familiar creases around his eyes and mouth. "I have an idea. Let me go with you."_

_Jean-Luc kissed her fingertips as they brushed over his lips. She _was_ beautiful, and he wished she could go with him, but still he shook his head. "You can't."_

_She drew her hand away from his face and frowned slightly. "Why not?"_

_"Chief Medical Officers weren't invited," he said, stressing each word as if repeating a direct order._

_Her frown shifted to a sly grin. "What about...the captain's new wife?"_

_Jean-Luc grinned as well. "I'm afraid new wives weren't invited either." He leaned over and kissed her tenderly on the lips, then sat back before she could pull him down on the bed. "Besides, this is a diplomatic mission, and you, my dear, would be a definite distraction to diplomacy. Now," he rubbed the back of his hand against her cheek, "it's early, you don't have to be in Sickbay for several hours, I suggest you get some more sleep. When I return, we have a honeymoon to plan."_

_Reluctantly, she settled back into the pillows, and he tucked the covers around her. "A real honeymoon, Jean-Luc? Not just an outing to the holodeck?"_

_"A real honeymoon," he promised, his hand up-raised in a Boy Scout salute. "Shore leave and everything."_

_Beverly smiled. "Shore leave will be nice." She reached up and playfully ran her finger down the bridge of his nose. "But it's the everything I'm looking forward to."_

Her eyes snapped open, and the images in her mind disappeared. The shadows of the empty room pressed in on her, and she rocked back and forth, crying in the darkness.

~vVv~


	3. Chapter 3

The lights were dim in Sickbay for it was deep into the ship's simulated night. But one light still glowed brightly above Will's bed, and Deanna wasn't asleep. She sat in a chair next to the first officer, watching his chest rise and fall, the sound of his uneven breathing loud in the relative silence.

_I'm sorry,_ she whispered in her mind, taking his hand gently in hers. She'd never lied to him. Not ever. Not even little white lies. Not with Will. _Not with you._ She stared down at his face, so pale beneath his beard. _I had to._ This time, she'd had to. He was in no condition to be told the truth. And she hadn't lied to him once, but twice. She drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly. She'd told him that he would be fine, but the medical staff still wasn't sure about that. His injuries had been extensive: skull fracture, massive internal bleeding, collapsed left lung, severely broken leg. If Worf and Data hadn't found him when they had, Will Riker would have been dead now. As it was, his condition was what Beverly called "precariously stable." He could take a turn for the worse at any moment. Deanna tightened her grip on his hand. And that's why she had told the second lie. She'd assured him that Captain Picard was fine also, but she had no way of knowing that; she had no idea where the captain was.

The shuttle had been found in a wooded area of Trastor Nine with Will crumpled at the helm. The hatch was open and an immediate search was made of the surrounding territory, but there was no sign of the captain. It was as if he'd never been there. But he had. Deanna knew that herself, for she'd seen them both off.

It was unusual for a captain and a first officer of a Starfleet vessel to accompany each other on an away mission, especially without a security officer. But the Trastorians had wanted it that way, as had the Federation. Don't make waves when sailing in someone else's sea.

_"There is no danger in this situation, Lieutenant," Jean-Luc insisted, his eyes focused somewhat wearily on his Chief Security Officer. "It is purely diplomatic. Although the Trastorians have shared scientific and technical data with the Federation for years, they have been reluctant at establishing any social ties. They are a very closed society in that respect. But now that they have invited me and Commander Riker to their annual governmental conference, Starfleet can ill afford to undermine their trust by beaming down onto their world with a security team. We don't want to give the impression that we're invading. As it is, the Commander and I won't be beaming down at all. We'll be taking a shuttle."_

_Worf made a sound low in his throat, almost a growl. "I don't like this, sir. Surely one security officer can accompany you."_

_Jean-Luc leveled his gaze at the Klingon. "I believe I've made myself perfectly clear, Lieutenant."_

_Worf's jaw hardened, and he exhaled heavily. "Yes, sir," he agreed reluctantly._

_"Captain, is there a reason why you'll be taking a shuttle?" Deanna asked, her eyes darting across the table at Will, and then back to Jean-Luc._

_"Yes, there is, Counselor. Although the Trastorians are technologically advanced, they frown upon molecular transport. They recognize that a vast number of cultures use this form of transportation, but they choose not to." Jean-Luc shook his head. "I do not intend to offend them by materializing right in front of their eyes."_

_To the left of the captain, Will leaned back in his chair. "I personally look forward to the trip. It's been a while since I've been at the controls of a shuttle."_

_Jean-Luc smiled at his first officer's enthusiasm. "My sentiments exactly, Number One. We'll have to share the conn."_

_Deanna grinned slightly. "I sense the two of you are looking forward to this trip."_

_"I think it will prove to be an enlightening experience," Jean-Luc surmised._

_"And who knows," Will shrugged his shoulders, "it might even be fun."_

If only she'd known; if only she'd sensed something. But she hadn't. She'd felt no inherent dangers in the mission at all. In fact, she was pleased at the idea of the both of them getting away from the ship for a few days. Of course, she wished Jean-Luc and Beverly could take the honeymoon they deserved, but at least the trip might be beneficial for the captain. She knew it would be for Will. He'd been working too hard lately, long hours, setting aside very little time for rest or recreation. As a counselor, and a friend, Deanna had noticed the changes in his personality. He'd grown overly quiet and preoccupied, actually become a stranger to Ten Forward. She'd discussed her concerns with Beverly; the doctor had some of her own.

_"Marriage can be a double-edged sword, Deanna," she sighed, staring across her desk at the counselor. "On one hand, I like to think it's the best thing that's ever happened to Jean-Luc, but on the other... well, it does have its share of stress factors. He can't afford to lose any more weight. And as for Will, his blood pressure is up. I had to give him something for it just the other day."_

_Deanna shook her head. "I wish you and Jean-Luc could get away for a while, but until then, perhaps this trip to Trastor Nine will do them both some good."_

_The doctor smiled. "Let's hope so, because when I get my husband back, I want him completely unencumbered with the cares and worries of this ship."_

~vVv~

_When I get my husband back._ Those very words echoed in Beverly Crusher's mind, and she stared out the viewport, tears streaming down her cheeks, so afraid that she would never get him back.

~vVv~


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Thanks for the encouraging reviews! I really appreciate the feedback!

"He has to be somewhere!" she exclaimed, her voice louder than she'd meant it to be. But the expression on her face didn't apologize for the outburst. She was worried, damn it! Scared to death. Taking a moment to study the faces of the surrounding crew members, she knew they felt the same way. And yet, how could they? Yes, it was their captain down there, but it was her husband_. Jean-Luc._ A feeling of hopelessness threatened to overwhelm her, and she blinked back the ever present tears in her eyes.

"Of course, he is." Geordi LaForge's voice was calm, but it was a struggle to keep it that way. "The question is, where? Due to the fact that the Trastorians are in the process of expanding their social ties, Federation representatives were not the only ones invited to the conference, and the _Enterprise _isn't the only ship in orbit around the planet. At this moment, we are in communication with the other representatives, explaining what's happened, asking questions. But it's a very delicate situation. There is a possibility that he could be on one of those ships, transported aboard for any number of reasons." He grimaced. "And in between the time that our shuttle departed for the planet, and then subsequently crashed, three ships left orbit. Starfleet Command is trying to locate them in order to question them as well."

Beverly stared at him, her eyes wide. "Then he could be almost anywhere."

Geordi nodded and looked in the direction of Miles O'Brien.

The transporter chief shrugged helplessly, ran a hand through his burnished, close-cropped curls. "Or he, uh..." he swallowed nervously, "he could still be somewhere on Trastor Nine. By scanning the surface of the planet in conjunction to the crash site, and by analyzing all life signs, I've been able to identify a twenty kilometer square radius where he's most likely located. Unfortunately, there are over fifty thousand other humanoids in the area, and that, along with the planet's atmospheric conditions, makes it almost impossible to distinguish between similar DNA patterns."

"Then we go down there and look for him." Beverly leaned forward eagerly in her chair. _Damn it, it's been almost four days._

Geordi held up a hand, stemming the doctor's fervor. "It's not that easy, Beverly."

"Why not?" she demanded.

Across from her, Data answered. "As you know, Doctor, Trastor Nine is an unaligned world, and although the Federation has been in communication with the high government, there has been virtually no contact with the general population. It would be inadvisable for a group of Starfleet officers to beam down into the middle of their society unannounced."

"It would be _inadvisable_ to let a Starfleet officer die down there!" Beverly shot back.

"Doctor," Data fixed her with a steady gaze. "We have no proof that the captain has been injured."

"That's right. He might be dead already!" she shouted.

"Beverly..." A hand gently touched her arm, and she shifted her eyes to the person beside her. Deanna smiled slightly. "I don't think he's dead," she said softly.

"Do you sense anything, Counselor?" Data asked.

Deanna shook her head. "No, nothing specific. I just think that I would know it if...if he were dead."

Beverly brushed her hand across her eyes. "I think I would, too," she said, forcing herself to calm down and gain control of her fears_. To be what Jean-Luc would expect of me._ She looked across the table at Data and Geordi. "So, how do we find him?"

Geordi took a deep breath. "We've been in contact with Governor Jarrax, explained to him the situation. And although he is hesitant, he is discussing the possibility of allowing a limited number of personnel to beam down to the planet and carry out a more extensive search for the captain."

"Discussing the possibility!?" Beverly gaped at him.

"Beverly, we have to understand that he's weighing the stability of his society versus the life of one person."

Beverly pressed her fingers to her lips and remained silent. She didn't understand a damn thing except the fact that Jean-Luc was down there, somewhere, alone, more than likely hurt, possibly dying.

From the end of the table, Worf spoke. "They must know something about his disappearance."

"They have given us their word that they do not," Data responded. "I can determine no reason for them to lie."

"Data's right," Deanna agreed. "I sense no attempt at falsehood on their part. They are just as confused by the captain's disappearance as we are. Unfortunately," she sighed, "I don't think there's much we can do until the governor makes his decision, or until Will is conscious and able to talk. Perhaps then he can tell us something."

~vVv~


	5. Chapter 5

"We're all worried about Jean-Luc."

Beverly looked up from Will's bedside; she'd been standing there for the last half hour watching the first officer sleep, trying, unsuccessfully, to sort through her feelings. Deanna stood in the doorway. "I know," Beverly whispered, reaching down and rubbing her hand along the first officer's arm. "And worried about Will."

Deanna joined her next to the bed, touched her fingers to Will's cheek. "He's going to be all right." Her words were a cross between a statement and a question.

Beverly smiled faintly at the counselor, nodded her head. "Yes. I'm fairly sure he's going to be all right now. Although, I want to keep him right where he is for at least a couple of weeks."

"You'll get no arguments from me," Deanna responded with a sigh of relief. "Of course, Will will probably have something to say about the matter."

"No problem. We can always sedate him if he gives us any trouble." Beverly tried to laugh, but found that she couldn't; the sound froze in her throat.

Deanna reached over and laid a hand on her friend's arm. "Beverly? About Jean-Luc..."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry I overreacted."

"No, you didn't." Deanna drew her over to a couple of chairs in the corner of the room, set her down in one of them, sank into the opposite one herself. "You just voiced what all of us are feeling."

Beverly stared down at her hands, knotted together in her lap. "But we're not supposed to let our feelings get in the way, are we?" she replied bitterly.

"That's what they tell us. But if I didn't let my feelings get in the way, then I'd be out of a job, wouldn't I?"

Beverly looked up at her. "You've got a point." Then she sighed heavily. "We just can't leave him down there, Deanna." _We can't._

"We're not." Her tone was firm and reassuring. "We're going to find him."

"But where can he be?" Beverly pounded her fists lightly against her knees. "Judging from the shuttle's condition, Jean-Luc would have suffered injuries just as severe as Will's had he been sitting in the co-pilot's seat. How could he have gotten up and walked away?"

"He may not have been sitting in the co-pilot's seat." Deanna covered Beverly's hands with her own, squeezed them comfortingly. "He may not have been injured at all."

"Then where is he?" She stared hard at Deanna, as if daring her to answer. "Why would he leave Will? Geordi said that despite the structural damage to the shuttle, the communications system was operational. Why didn't he contact the ship?" Beverly pulled her hands away from the counselor's grasp, reached up and rubbed tiredly at her eyes and cheeks. "What if..." The thought that had been teasing the edges of her mind, the one she'd been trying so hard not to acknowledge, suddenly hit her full force. "Oh, Deanna, what if someone took him?" The terrified gaze she'd fixed on Deanna intensified.

The counselor hesitated for a moment. "Then we'll find that someone, and take him back." She drew in a deep breath. "We will find him, Beverly." _Please, let us find him._

~vVv~

The last thing he remembered were dark eyes filling with tears. _No. No. That's not right._ The last thing he remembered was the jagged-edged face of a Cardassian sneering down at him. _No._ The last thing he remembered was the sound of Jean-Luc Picard screaming.

"No!" Will Riker cried out suddenly. "No! No!" Someone's hands were on him, and he fought against them, pushing violently at their touch. "No! Jean-Luc?!"

"Will! Will, it's all right. Shh, you're all right." Deanna raised her voice so that she could be heard over his screams. "You're on the _Enterprise_. You're safe. It's me. Deanna." _I'm here._

"No... No." His head tossed back and forth, his hands, balled into fists, flung against the yielding air.

"Lie still." Deanna grabbed at his wrists, pushed his arms down onto the bed, held them there until she felt him begin to grow calm. She let go, and soothingly ran her hands over his forehead and cheeks. They were wet with tears and perspiration. "You're safe," she said again. "Shh… You were dreaming. That's all. It was just a dream."

He stopped struggling and fell back on the pillows, his eyes open, staring up into Deanna's eyes. _Dark eyes. Imzadi._ "Deanna?" he rasped.

She smiled. "I'm right here," she assured, holding her hands against his face.

Will exhaled a long, heavy breath. "Oh, Deanna." He squeezed his eyes closed, and silent tears slid down his cheeks.

Softly, she wiped them away with her fingers. "Beverly says you're going to be fine." _Just fine._

He looked back up at her, bright blue eyes searching her face, his fingers reaching up to touch her cheek. She took hold of them, kissed them softly. "Everything's all right, Will."

_Everything? Jean-Luc?_ "I want... to see the captain."

Deanna could feel his pulse racing in his neck. She nodded. "I know you do. But not now."

Will swallowed, licked his lips. "Why?" Despite his weakened condition, the one-word question was strong, forceful, his voice authoritative, demanding.

Gently, she brushed sweat-drenched hair back from his forehead. "Because... he's sleeping."

"Sleeping?" All of Will's gathered strength seemed to dissipate, and the determination in his eyes changed to fear. "He's sleeping?"

"Yes, Will," she answered, looking away, studying the items on his bedside table: water pitcher, cup, damp cloth, hypospray. She couldn't look into his eyes or he would know that she was lying. But all of a sudden, she felt his hand close around her wrist, his fingers digging into her arm. She turned her gaze back to him. "Will?"

"They gave him back?" The expression on Will's face was a mixture of doubt and relief. And then terror when he spoke his next words. "The Cardassians gave him back?"

~vVv~


	6. Chapter 6

He slept. And Deanna sat there, watching. _Forever watching._ She'd asked him a few questions. Not many. He was still so very weak; all of his answers were muddled, confused. And yet, he seemed sure about the Cardassians: the sound of them as they boarded the shuttle, the expressions on their faces when they realized the Starfleet officers were still alive. And the pain he'd felt as they'd roughly pushed him aside, disregardful of his injuries. The horror when he heard his captain scream, and then... nothing.

Will's eyes had pleaded with Deanna to tell him the truth, but she wasn't able to; she didn't want him to know that the Cardassians had not given Jean-Luc Picard back.

So, she'd sedated him again. Told herself he needed the rest. Told herself there was nothing he could do for the captain. Not now. _Maybe never._

She shook her head, forced the negative thoughts from her mind. She'd already spoken to Data, notified him of Will's words. The Second Officer would contact Starfleet Command. They would make the decisions on how to handle this particular piece of information.

Deanna sighed, rubbed her hand gently over his fevered brow. She had her own decisions to make. And soon. Beverly had to be told. And Will couldn't be kept sedated forever.

~vVv~

She wrapped the beige robe tighter around her shoulders, gathering the collar at her neck, taking an odd notice of how red her hair looked lying limply against it. Lowering her face, she rubbed flushed, tear-salted cheeks over the material. The robe itself was so much like Jean-Luc. Masculine, coarsely textured, and yet so very warm, soft.

_Jean-Luc._

She gasped, felt a stabbing behind her eyes. There were no tears left now. Only pain, a pressure building. Deanna had sent her back to her cabin to get some rest, using some little known, rarely invoked, counselor-doctor directive. In other words, she'd turned the tables: counselor's orders, not doctor's.

But Beverly couldn't sleep, although she needed to. She was exhausted. But it had been so long since she'd slept alone, without him, she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to again. She'd climbed in bed, under the covers, curled up tightly, but Jean-Luc wasn't there. And no matter how hard she tried to imagine him, the softness and musky smell of his pillow couldn't take the place of the man she loved.

And so she sat there, awake, alone. And yet, not alone. Reaching over to the bedside table, she activated the holograph of Wesley. It had been taken just before he'd left for the Academy, so grown up, so much like Jack. And she wanted them here, the both of them. Wesley... and Jack. For he would understand her love for Jean-Luc. She knew that. Was sure of the fact. Had long ago made peace with it. And Jack, of all people, would know how she felt at this moment.

She refused to lose another husband to another alien planet.

She'd made a silent promise to herself the night Jean-Luc had asked her to marry him; lying next to him in bed, she'd stared up through the viewport at the stars and vowed never to let him go. Her vow wasn't realistic; she knew that. She couldn't keep someone forever; she'd learned that the hard way, but still, holding him close to her, she'd sworn that this time... this time it would be different. This time would be for always.

_"Does it sound like a good idea?" Jean-Luc's voice, low and husky, whispered in her ear, his breath warm against her skin._

_She looked over at him, his head resting on the pillow beside hers. He was smiling, that small, clever smile he had whenever he knew he'd finally made a right decision. "You're sure?" she responded, rolling over on her side, running her fingers along his cheek._

_He took her hand, held it to his lips, and kissed it. "I'm sure," he murmured. "I want you to be my wife. Please say yes."_

_She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again there were tears in them. "Yes," she breathed. "Yes."_

_He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. "Good. That's exactly what I wanted to hear."_

_And it was exactly what she'd wanted to say, had been wanting to say for months now, ever since their relationship had become something more than "just friends." She loved the man who held her, had loved him for a long time. She slid her arms around him, one hand at the nape of his neck, the other pressing into his lower back. She would love him for always._

_Always..._

"Beverly?"

The voice came from the doorway, interrupting Beverly's thoughts.

Reluctantly, forcibly, she pulled herself away from her memories, ran the back of her hand over her eyes, even though there were no more tears to dry. She recognized Deanna's voice, here to check up on her. And yet, she'd be doing the very same thing if the situation were reversed. Beverly raised her eyes from Wesley's holograph, met Deanna's concerned gaze.

The counselor smiled faintly. "I let myself in. I hope you don't mind. I thought you might be sleeping, and, well... I didn't want to wake you if you were."

Beverly ran her hands through her tangled hair. "I tried. I just can't. I feel like I have to be awake in case..." Her voice trailed off.

Deanna crossed over and sat down on the edge of the bed beside her. "Beverly..." She looked at her. Blue, red-rimmed eyes stared back. "Will woke up about a half hour ago."

"Is he all right? Why didn't you call me?" The tone was familiar: Beverly Crusher doing her job.

Deanna placed a hand on her arm. "He's fine. I did give him another sedative. He's sleeping now."

"At least one of us is," Beverly sighed.

"He was able to talk a little. Not much." Deanna hesitated. "He asked about Jean-Luc."

Beverly swallowed. "You didn't tell him?"

"No. But he told me something."

The hand on her arm tightened. "Deanna... What is it?" Her voice was a whisper; she barely felt herself breathing.

"Beverly... Will believes that... that the Cardassians took Jean-Luc."

Her eyes widened with disbelief. "No... No..." She began to tremble, her head shaking slowly back and forth. All the color drained from her cheeks, and her breath came in halting gasps. She brought her hands up to her face, pressed her fingers to her lips. "No, Deanna... No! Not again. This time they'll... Oh, god, no... No!" she screamed.

Deanna quickly wrapped her arms around Beverly's shoulders and held her, rocked her as she began to cry. There were tears left, after all.

~vVv~


	7. Chapter 7

If it were possible for an android to feel out of place, if it were possible for an android to feel at all, then Deanna surmised that "out of place" was exactly what Data was feeling at the moment. He sat behind the desk in the captain's ready room. No, Deanna thought, perched was a better word to use. He didn't seem to be relaxed into the chair at all. But then again, none of them were relaxed.

Beverly stood near the wall, her hand resting on top of Jean-Luc's model of the _Stargazer_. At least she was standing still now. For the past hour she'd been pacing back and forth in the ready room. And before that, she'd paced in Sickbay. Deanna may not have been able to sense an android's feelings, but she could sense the doctor's. Fear. Pain. Frustration. Feelings that she felt herself.

Deanna shifted in the chair she was sitting in, looked over at her. "Beverly, wouldn't you like to sit down?" she suggested quietly, indicating the chair next to her.

Beverly glanced at her, shook her head, then returned her gaze to Data.

The Second Officer was staring at the desk computer screen, listening to someone talking. A few moments later, he nodded. "Thank you, Governor. We appreciate your assistance in this matter. We will be sending exactly fifteen search parties down to the surface within the hour, and I will keep you apprised of the situation."

Beverly exhaled a deep sigh of relief.

Data turned off the computer, and then activated his communicator. "Lieutenant Worf?"

"Yes, Commander?" The Klingon's gruff voice filled the room.

"Governor Jarrax has given us permission to extend our search for the captain. All away teams are to be dressed in civilian clothing, and precautions are to be taken in order to insure that the Trastorian's daily routine is not impeded in any way whatsoever. Please keep me informed of your progress."

"Yes, sir."

Data looked up at the two women. "Starfleet Command has already contacted the Cardassian government. They deny any involvement."

Deanna shook her head. "I know Will has been badly injured, but he honestly believes that Cardassians were involved in some way."

"And he is most likely correct," Data agreed. "But, as you well know from past confrontations, the Cardassians are far from truthful in their dealings with others. I am sure Starfleet Command will do all that they can."

"Which might not be enough," Beverly murmured, remembering their last encounter with the Cardassians.

"We can only hope that he has not been taken off Trastor Nine. Further sensor scans of the planet have been inconclusive. They do not show any evidence of Cardassian life forms, but as Chief O'Brien stated earlier, the atmospheric conditions negate the possibility of accurate readings."

Beverly walked over to the chair next to Deanna and sat down. Impatiently, she rubbed the palms of her hands along her thighs and sighed again. "So, now we wait some more?"

"Yes, Doctor." Data frowned slightly. "Now we wait some more."

~vVv~

And they waited. Each in their own way: Deanna at Will's bedside much of the time, Data in constant contact with Starfleet Command and the Trastorian government, Worf supervising the various search parties, Geordi and Miles studying the remains of the shuttlecraft, and Beverly... She found herself staring out of viewports a lot, not quite sure what she was looking for, knowing full well she wouldn't find Jean-Luc staring back. Yet on the sixth day following his disappearance, she found herself in Ten Forward. There were lots of viewports there. And Guinan found her at one.

She stood next to Beverly for several silent moments, and then asked, "How is...Commander Riker?"

Beverly blinked, not expecting the question. "He's fine," she replied.

Guinan nodded. "That's good. Up and about?"

"No, not yet. He's still under heavy sedation, but his condition is improving."

"I'm glad to hear that." Silence again, and then another question. "And Counselor Troi, how is she?"

Beverly hesitated, then answered slowly. "Deanna is fine."

Another nod of her head. "That's good, too." Silence. Question. "And how are you?"

The doctor drew in a sharp breath and turned on the woman. "Why do you keep asking about everyone else and not Jean-Luc?"

Guinan pursed her lips slightly and glanced over at her. "I didn't think they'd found the captain yet."

Confusion clouded Beverly's expression. "They haven't, but-"

"And since he's still missing, I'm choosing to believe that wherever he is, he's safe and healthy." Guinan crossed her arms behind her back, and returned her gaze to the stars. "It's a... choice I'm making."

Beverly stared at her, eyes widening. She realized now that Guinan was trying to help, trying to be reassuring in her own unique manner, but still... "Just like that? You can decide to believe that he's all right, and then not worry?"

Guinan shook her head slowly. "I didn't say I wasn't worried. I was just simply asking about the condition of the crew members who were onboard and accounted for. I try not to allow my concerns to become overly centered on one thing, or one person. No matter how much I may care for that thing... or person."

Beverly sighed heavily. "I understand what you're saying."

Guinan glanced at the doctor. "Do you?"

"Yes. But... it's difficult." She rubbed her fingers over her forehead. Constant worry had left her with a headache for the past few days.

"I know." Guinan stood there quietly. "Have you told Wesley yet?"

"No," Beverly responded quickly.

"Why not?" Guinan asked calmly.

"There's nothing he could do." Beverly lowered her eyes. "And..." she drew in a breath, "he's already lost a father out here. I don't think I could tell him that he's lost a step-father as well."

"He hasn't lost him yet." Guinan paused for a moment, then continued. "I remember once, years ago, Jean-Luc left me... alone. I was hurt, scared. But he told me that he would be back for me, and I believed him. And... he did come back." She exhaled a long breath. "I believe he will come back this time, too."

Beverly looked up at her, knowing instantly the situation she was referring to. San Francisco. A year ago. Five hundred years ago. "Guinan..." Her heart beat faster. "Is there something that you know about Jean-Luc, and you're not telling us? Can't tell us?"

"No... no." Guinan shook her head again. "I wish there were. But... he and I have already come full circle. From here on out, it's just a straight line." She gently rested her hand on Beverly's shoulder. "And I don't think we've come to the end of it quite yet."

~vVv~


	8. Chapter 8

"I want to see him. Now!" He struggled against her restraining hands.

"Will, please." Deanna sat on the edge of his bed, trying to push him back down on the pillows. "You mustn't sit up so quickly."

"To hell with sitting up," he shouted. "I'm getting out of this bed." His legs moved, and she shifted her body closer to his.

"No, you're not." Her voice was firm, her hand reaching toward the bedside table.

His eyes blazed up at her, sweat trickling down his face. "And don't you bring that damned hypospray near me. I don't want to sleep! I want to see the captain!"

Deanna froze in mid-motion, thoughts speeding through her mind. It had been almost a week now. Jean-Luc was still missing. Will's injuries were healing. And she couldn't lie to him any longer.

"All right." _No more._ "I won't sedate you. But you have to calm down."

He stopped struggling and lay still, the fire in his blue eyes smoldering somewhat.

Deanna laid her hand on his arm. He flinched, but didn't resist her touch. "Will, I know you remember what happened before the shuttle crashed."

He nodded slowly. "The main thruster suddenly gave out. We weren't able to compensate. There wasn't even time to contact the ship." The words came out simply: facts that he'd stored away in the technical side of his mind.

"And you crashed?"

"Yeah." His forehead wrinkled in growing confusion, eyes squinting. "Deanna... There were... there were Cardassians there. I remember..."

She felt his body beginning to tremble. "Easy, Will. You're safe." She rubbed her hand along his arm.

"The captain... the captain... He was screaming." Will's breathing was heavy now, labored. "Deanna?" His eyes gazed up into hers, darkening with the realization. "We... we didn't get him back, did we?" The words were hoarse, whispered, barely audible.

But Deanna heard, and her hand tightened around his arm. "No, Will. We didn't."

"Is he..."

_No, imzadi._ "He's not dead. At least, we don't think so. I don't think so... We just don't know where he is... right now."

Will was silent and still for several seconds, and then he abruptly pulled his arm away from her, moved his head back on the pillow, the flame in his eyes returning. "You lied to me." His voice was steady, cold.

Deanna felt the sudden rush of anger, the intensity of his emotions. "Will, you were seriously injured. Very close to death. I couldn't risk upsetting you." She tried to brush her hand over his hair.

He pulled further away from her. "So you lied." A straight accusation.

"Yes. I lied." A straight answer. "I didn't want to." She reached to touch his forehead.

He pushed her hand away, roughly. "I've never lied to you, Deanna." He grimaced. "Imzadi." He said the word bitterly.

She drew in a deep breath. "Will, don't. You're frightened, and angry. And worried about the captain. I know that. We all are. What I did was out of concern for you."

"What you did was lie. To me." He swallowed, trembling with anger and fear. "How do I know that you're not lying now? How do I know that Jean-Luc isn't already dead?"

His words stung, but she didn't retreat from them. "I hope he's not. I don't think he is. And I am telling you the truth." She reached toward him again, and this time he allowed her fingers to brush against his forehead. "Oh, Will. I am sorry. Please say you understand."

He chewed at his lower lip for a moment, closed his eyes. He could never stay angry with her for long, especially not when he needed her like he needed her now. He looked back up at her, dark hair, dark eyes. _Imzadi._ "I understand," he murmured, his voice breaking. He felt tears gathering in his eyes. He didn't move to brush them away.

Deanna leaned over and took him in her arms, held him, kissed him softly on the cheek. _I understand. Imzadi._

~vVv~


	9. Chapter 9

Beverly glanced up from her computer as Deanna entered her office and quietly slipped into a chair opposite the desk. "Did Data send you in here?" the doctor asked, her voice a monotone.

Deanna could tell she was trying to hide a great deal of worry and pain. "No, he didn't. I was talking with Will."

"How is he?" Beverly inquired, remembering the example Guinan had set for her. _Will is here. And accounted for._

Deanna smiled gently. "He's doing much better. But, of course, you know that."

Beverly nodded absently. She did know that his condition had improved. It was her job to know. "Yes. But we haven't really talked. I usually look in on him while he's sleeping." It was easier that way.

"He's sleeping now," Deanna said. "Of his own free will. No sedative." She didn't tell the doctor that he'd cried himself to sleep.

"That's good." Beverly stared vacantly at the center of her desk. "You told him?" Somehow, she knew. Doctors had their own empathic skills.

"Yes," Deanna sighed. "He demanded to see the captain. I couldn't keep putting him off."

"How did he take it?"

"As well as can be expected. He was quite upset with me for lying to him."

Beverly looked up at the counselor. "Oh, Deanna, I'm sorry."

"No, it's all right. We smoothed things over. He understands." She studied her friend, could tell she'd been crying. "Why did you ask if Data sent me?"

Beverly frowned and rubbed at her eyes; the headache was still there. "He left here about a half hour ago. He'd come to give me an update. I didn't react well to the news... or lack of news, that is. I don't think Data knows quite what to do with a Chief Medical Officer who dissolves into tears."

"Beverly..." Deanna leaned over and held out her hand.

Beverly took hold of it, squeezed her fingers. "I'm all right. The walls just come tumbling down every now and then."

"They're allowed to," Deanna reminded her softly.

"I know." Her eyes returned to the center of her desk again.

Deanna's eyes followed. "They still haven't found anything?"

"No, not yet." Beverly inhaled deeply and let go of Deanna's hand. "Although Data is very good about keeping me informed, even if there's nothing to report."

Deanna smiled faintly. "He understands."

She looked up, caught Deanna's gaze. "He does."

"And Wesley will understand, too."

The words caught her by surprise. "No," she gasped, pushing herself up from the desk and walking to the side of the room.

"He has a right to know." Deanna's voice was soft, but insistent.

Beverly stood with her back to the counselor, her arms folded tightly across her chest. "No. Not again."

"Jean-Luc isn't Jack."

She swung around. "Don't you think I know that?"

"It's not happening again, Beverly," Deanna said calmly. "I know you're afraid that it is. But it's not. Just because Jack didn't come back, doesn't mean that Jean-Luc won't."

Beverly lowered her head, eyes searching the floor. "He may not come back. We may never find him. At least with Jack..." She swallowed. "At least... they brought his body home."

Deanna got up and moved over to her. "I know it'll be difficult, but I really think you need to let Wesley know what's happened."

Beverly brushed her hand over her eyes. "He was five years old when Jack died. I told him; he really didn't understand. For months he kept asking when would his Daddy have shore leave, when would he come to see us." She looked up at Deanna. "How can I tell him that the man he loves like a father is missing?"

"You just tell him. And allow him to share this with you." Deanna placed her hands on Beverly's trembling shoulders. "Give him that, Beverly. He's older now. He's not a little boy anymore. Let him be there for you this time. Be there for each other."

Beverly shook her head. "Deanna..."

"Do you want me tell him?"

"No." She took a deep breath. "I will."

~vVv~


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:** Since the last two chapters were short, I thought I'd post another chapter today. Thanks for reading and reviewing!

"Mom!"

Wesley's familiar smile broke across his face, and Beverly felt her heart clench. _So much like Jack's,_ she thought, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over onto her cheeks. And so much like the smile he'd had on his face fifteen years ago when she'd had to tell him about Jack, and how he wasn't coming back. _But Jean-Luc is missing; he's not dead. He's not dead._

"Mom?" The smile started to fade, a look of worry creeping into his eyes.

"Wesley." She forced a smile of her own. "How are you?"

"I'm all right." He shook his head. "This is a surprise. I wasn't expecting to hear from you. Although, I did know that the _Enterprise_ was in range of sub-space communications." He always kept up with their itinerary. "You don't have to check up on me every time you're in the neighborhood."

"Of course, I do," Beverly replied, trying to keep her tone light. "That's one of the first rules of motherhood. Never let your child think that he's ever out of your sight. Even when he is."

Wesley nodded. "I'm doing just fine, Mom."

"I'm sure you are." She studied his eyes and face. "You look well. Are you-"

"I'm eating," he answered the question before she had a chance to ask it. "And I'm studying. And I occasionally find time for a date." He laughed when his mother raised her eyebrows. "Nothing serious, Mom." He grinned slyly. "Besides, I think one marriage per family per year is all Starfleet allows."

That was the last time they'd seen each other in person. Wesley had come aboard the _Enterprise _three months earlier, taking a short leave from the Academy in order to be there for the wedding. Will Riker had been Picard's best man, and Wesley had given his mother away. She hadn't been sure about asking him, didn't know how he'd feel about it. She could still remember their conversation in her quarters just days before the ceremony.

_She stared at him expectantly, and when he didn't answer immediately, she lowered her eyes and continued talking. "I'm sorry, Wes. I shouldn't have asked. I know this is all very confusing for you, and the fact that you're here is enough. I'm so glad you could come, because regardless of all the different feelings surrounding this wedding, I wanted you be here to share it with me. And Jean-Luc. I know he's glad that you're here, too. We both are. And Wesley, if there is anything that you want to talk about that I haven't brought up, then please, let me know, because I am here for you. You know that. Whatever-"_

_"Mom!" She felt his hands on her shoulders, and she looked up. _When did he get so tall? _"Slow down. You're going to wear yourself out, and you still have a lot to do between now and the wedding. Besides, the answer is... yes. I didn't answer right away because I was a little stunned. I mean, it's not every day that a mother asks a son to give her away at her own wedding. But, Mom, there is no other person in this world that I would want to give you away to."_

_"Oh, Wesley." She touched her fingers to his cheek. "Are you sure all of this is all right with you?"_

_He rolled his eyes. "Mom, I wanted you to marry Captain Picard six years ago."_

_She blinked up at him. "You did?"_

_"Yes. The first year we were on board, I knew there was something between the two of you, even when you guys were too afraid to admit to it. And then, when you were gone for that year, and came back... I knew things had changed a little, but... You have always loved him, Mom."_

_"I loved him as a-"_

_"Don't say friend," Wesley cut her off._

_"But I did love him as a friend."_

_"Dad loved him as a friend." Wesley smiled softly at the memory of his father. "And I know that for a long time you did, too. But your friendship changed, even while the two of you were too busy to realize it. All I can say is that I'm glad you both finally noticed."_

_Beverly brushed her fingers over Wesley's forehead, pushed back a strand of fine brown hair. "And the fact that Jean-Luc was once your father's best friend?"_

_"Doesn't bother me. Not at all." He kissed his mother on the cheek. "I just want you to be happy, Mom."_

_Beverly wrapped her arms around her son, placed a kiss of her own on his cheek. "I am, Wesley. I am."_

"So, how are you two newlyweds?" Wesley's grin expanded. "Have you found time for a honeymoon yet? Didn't the Captain want to take you back to France for a few days? I really think a trip would be-"

"Wesley..."

"...just great for you, and France is-"

"Wes!" She raised her voice slightly, and he stopped talking, stared at her blankly. "Wesley." Beverly tried to regain her composure. "I have some... There's something I need to tell you."

"Mom, what is it?" He could sense her discomfort now.

Beverly stared into her son's eyes. He was so close, and yet so far away. And she wished he were here. Right here. With her. With Jean-Luc.

"Mom?" His voice trembled.

She had to tell him. _Just tell him._ "Wesley, a week ago Jean-Luc and Will left the ship in a shuttle on their way to Trastor Nine. They were to be guests at a governmental conference. The, uh... the shuttle crashed, and when a rescue team arrived, Will was there, but... Jean-Luc is missing."

Wesley gazed back at her, and she could see the tears gather instantly in his eyes. They mirrored the ones in her own. "Missing?" he whispered.

Beverly nodded. "For a week now. We have... search parties out looking for him. But..."

"But what?"

She drew in a deep breath. "Will was unconscious for several days..."

"He's all right, though?"

"He will be. He doesn't remember much, but he does remember seeing Cardassians after the crash. He thinks they took Jean-Luc."

Wesley shook his head slowly, disbelieving. "Oh, Mom." He gasped in a breath of air. "I want to be there."

Beverly reached up, wiped her hands over her eyes. "I knew you'd say that, but there's nothing you can do here."

"I can be with you," he argued. "And when they find him, I'll be there, and if..." His voice trailed off.

She knew what he'd been about to say. _And if they don't._ That's all she'd been thinking about. _If they don't._ "I'll keep you informed, Wes. You know I will. And if..." They had to acknowledge the possibility; they couldn't keep it silent between them. "And if they don't find him, then there will be a memorial service, and you can come then."

He swallowed past the lump in his throat. "They'll find him, Mom. They will." He managed a slight smile. "And then I can come anyway, for a visit. All right?"

"Absolutely," she murmured. "Now, you hold on. Don't forget to study."

"Mom!" But he realized she was searching for things to say: everyday things, mundane, unimportant in the face of what was happening to her. To them. "I'll study. I may... I may go talk to Boothby."

Beverly smiled. "I think that would be good. You tell him... Tell him Jean-Luc says hello."

~vVv~


	11. Chapter 11

"You can't sit there all day just staring at the wall."

He didn't look away, but he responded to her voice. "And who said you could make the rules?"

"Beverly gave me permission. This is her sickbay, but she said I could play on her court anytime I wanted to."

He felt her lean against the edge of the bed, could hear her breathing. "Yeah, well, there's not much to do around here."

"You could try eating a little more."

"I'm not hungry."

"I know. But you need to build up your strength." She laid her hand on his arm, fingers rubbing along his wrist. "Beverly says you'll need to start some physical therapy for your leg. It was broken badly in several places."

"No wonder it hurts like hell," he said dully, his face still turned away from her.

"Are you in pain, Will?" Her voice suddenly edged with concern.

"A little bit," he lied. Now that they no longer sedated him, the pain had grown worse. But he didn't want to take anything for it. He wanted to feel it. Needed to feel it. That's why he'd been doing his best to hide it from Deanna. And somehow he'd succeeded up to that very moment.

"Oh, Will." Her hand grasped hold of his. "I should have known. You should have told me or Beverly." She reached over to the bedside table where there was still a hypospray.

Sensing her move toward the instrument, Will looked away from the wall, turned a full blue-eyed gaze on her. "No," he said firmly. "I want to feel it."

Deanna stood there, the hypo in her hand. She stared at him. "Will, don't be foolish. You need all your strength to get well. You shouldn't have to be bothered by any pain."

He laughed suddenly, shifted his eyes up toward the ceiling. "It doesn't matter, Deanna."

"It most certainly does."

"I'm not even sure I want to get well."

"Will..."

"I'm not sure..." His voice broke, and tears slid from his eyes. "I'm not sure of anything. Oh, god, Deanna, why did I let them take him?"

"You didn't let them, Will. They just did it. You were injured; you didn't know." She took hold of his shoulders, felt the tension of tight, hard muscles under her fingertips. "You couldn't have stopped them."

He tilted his head forward, looked into her eyes. "But I should have anyway," he shouted. "I was supposed to take care of him, and now..." His face crumpled, the tension broke, and he sagged into her arms, started to cry, wrenching sobs shaking his body.

Deanna cradled him against her shoulder, her hand stroking his hair and back. She whispered soothingly into his ear. "It's all right, Will. It's all right."

But it wasn't. They both knew that.

~vVv~

It was the last time Will Riker cried for the man who was more like a father to him than his own. He concentrated, instead, on getting well. And after a few days of pushing himself to the limit with his physical therapy, both Deanna and Beverly figured out why. They stared at each other over the short expanse of the doctor's office.

"He thinks he can make a difference," Deanna stated simply.

Beverly shook her head and leaned back in her desk chair. "All of Starfleet can't make a difference," she said bitterly. It had been almost two weeks now, and Jean-Luc still had not been found. She knew that sometime during the third week they would probably declare him officially missing; in Starfleet's eyes, he would be dead. But not in hers. She wouldn't accept that. And, apparently, neither would Will Riker. Beverly sighed, realizing that both of them might have to face that acceptance whether they wanted to or not.

"It's not so much hope he's holding onto, as it is this quiet determination to get better and find the ones responsible for Jean-Luc's disappearance," Deanna continued.

Beverly raised her eyes from the center of her desk where they'd settled. "He's told you this?"

The counselor frowned. "Not in so many words. He's been... unresponsive lately."

"Even more so with me," Beverly agreed. "He won't even look at me."

"He feels he's let you down. That it was his responsibility to take care of the Captain, and he failed. I've tried talking with him."

"I haven't." The words were soft, and yet they echoed in the small room.

Deanna looked over at the doctor. She didn't say anything.

Beverly pushed a stray lock of hair away from her eyes, allowed her gaze to shift back to the desktop. "I seem to have lost my bedside manner. I go into his room; I do all the things a chief medical officer is supposed to do. I just can't seem to talk to him. No wonder he doesn't bother to look at me."

Deanna studied her carefully. She'd seen Beverly's behavior around the First Officer, her unwillingness to discuss anything other than his medical condition. She thought she understood the reason. "A part of you does blame, Will."

Beverly instantly looked up at her. "I do not. That's... that's ridiculous, Deanna."

"Is it?" Deanna asked quietly.

"Of course, it is." Beverly pushed her chair back and stood, began a nervous pacing in the small area behind her desk, her arms folded tightly across her chest. "Will was seriously injured. He was unconscious. There was no way he could have prevented what happened."

"Just like Jean-Luc couldn't have prevented Jack's death fifteen years ago."

Beverly stopped walking, stood there, barely breathing, unable to respond to Deanna's words. It wasn't the same. It wasn't. _Damn it, it's not the same._ And yet, it was. She reached out and grasped the back of her desk chair, held on to it for support as she felt herself begin to tremble. Jean-Luc came back fifteen years ago, and Jack didn't. Will came back two weeks ago, and Jean-Luc didn't. She felt Deanna's hands on her shoulders. She'd been unaware that the counselor had gotten up and come over to her, but she was relieved that she had.

"Beverly, talk to Will. You need to, and he needs you to. Whatever happens, don't let the silence build up between you."

Beverly slowly nodded her head in response.

~vVv~


	12. Chapter 12

"I think that's enough for this afternoon, Commander," Alyssa Ogawa said as she began to pull a blanket over Will's left leg.

"Let's go for another set of ten," the first officer replied, the half-smile on his face doing little to offset the hardness in his voice.

Alyssa continued to worry with the blanket. "I don't think that would be a good idea."

Will reached down and yanked the blanket out of her hands. "Why not?" he persisted.

"Because she knows the chief medical officer wouldn't approve." Beverly Crusher's voice came from the open doorway.

Both Will and Alyssa looked in her direction.

"Doctor," the nurse said, taking advantage of Will's surprise and quickly tucking the blanket around his injured leg.

"Thank you, Alyssa," Beverly smiled at her as she crossed over to the bed. "You can go now."

Alyssa nodded and left the room. Will's eyes continued to stare at Beverly.

"I see you're looking at me," she observed quietly. He blinked. "My staff has very clear instructions concerning the care and welfare of one Commander William Riker. Your therapy is over when it's over." Her tone softened. "If you push it too far, Will, it's going to cause more harm than good."

He shifted his gaze away from her, looked down at the outline of his legs underneath the blanket. "It's taking too damn long."

"What is? Your recovery? Or Starfleet's search for Jean-Luc?"

Will's breath caught in his throat, his hands closed into fists, the blue sickbay blanket clutched between his fingers.

"Talk to me, Will."

He shook his head. "You sound like Deanna."

"I know. She already made me talk. And then she made me listen."

He glanced up at her from the corner of his eyes. "And now she's sent you to me."

Beverly stared at him, his face still so pale, eyes betraying his vulnerability. She reached over and pulled a chair close to the bed, sat down, her gaze level with his. "I owe you an apology, Will."

His eyes widened. He was the one who owed the apology.

She hurried on, before he had a chance to interrupt. "A part of me blamed you for what's happened. You came back and Jean-Luc didn't. I know that's not your fault."

"I know it is."

"Will." She took hold of his hand, held it securely even as he started to pull away. "Stop it. You can't blame yourself for this."

He stared at her, his blue eyes blazing with anger and guilt. "If I can't blame myself, then who do I blame?"

Beverly nodded in understanding. "That's always the hardest part, isn't it? Assigning the blame." Gently, she began to stroke her fingers over his hand, felt the tight fist relax slightly. "We always want to have someone there that we can... beat up. Trouble is, it usually ends up being ourselves." She paused, thinking back all those years ago to the time following Jack's death. "And, sometimes, we destroy more than ourselves."

He looked away, tried once again to pull his hand from hers. She held onto him. "I lost... a lot... when Jack died. He was my first real love, my best friend. But... I lost another friend as well. Jean-Luc and I didn't speak to each other for over ten years. He carried the guilt of Jack's death with him all that time. In some ways, he still does. But we managed to put our friendship back together... and more. It wasn't easy, but it was worth it." She placed her other hand around Will's fist. "I value our friendship, Will. We have shared... a great deal. I appreciate all that you've done for the people I love. For Wesley, and Odan." Will breathed in sharply; Beverly continued. "And for Jean-Luc. It wasn't your fault, Will. And whatever happens, please don't carry the guilt. And don't let us stop being friends."

A few silent moments passed, and then Will laid his other hand on top of Beverly's, looked up into her eyes. "We won't," he said quietly. But he made no promises about the question of guilt.

~vVv~

Extensive searches of Trastor Nine yielded nothing. The Cardassian government steadfastly denied any involvement; Gul Madred himself issued a statement disavowing any knowledge as to the location of Jean-Luc Picard. There were no leads to follow, nothing to hold onto. And Beverly found herself losing the little bit of hope to which she'd been clinging. She began to prepare herself for Starfleet's official ruling on the matter. And yet, how could anyone be truly prepared to hear...

"Starfleet has listed the captain as officially missing, presumed dead. They have instructed us to proceed with a memorial service."

Data stood in front of the doctor's desk, straight and tall, his eyes staring down at the top of Beverly's head.

The doctor sat in her desk chair, leaning forward, elbows propped in front of her, her forehead cradled in her hands. Beside her, Deanna sat on the edge of the desk, one hand resting on Beverly's shoulder.

"They are disappointed by the lack of any hard evidence regarding the captain's disappearance, but they have come to an impasse in their investigation. As soon as Commander Riker is fit for duty, he is to be promoted to the rank of captain and take over the _Enterprise _as her commanding officer."

Deanna shifted her gaze toward the android. "Thank you, Data."

Data took one step closer to the desk. "I am sorry, Doctor."

Beverly lifted her head slightly, her eyes fastening to Data's face. "I know. We all are."

"I will be on the bridge, if I am needed," he said softly, then turned and left the office.

"Oh, Deanna..." Beverly was shaking, beginning to cry convulsively.

Deanna sank down onto the floor, kneeling beside the doctor's chair. Gently, she took Beverly in her arms, and held her while they cried.

~vVv~


	13. Chapter 13

The ceiling was white, and in the corner the paint was peeling. There was a single light bulb in the center, and sometimes it was on, and at other times, it wasn't. If he lifted his head a few inches off the pillow, he could look at the rest of the room, though there wasn't much to see: a bedside table, a chair, both white metal, two doors on the opposite side. The door to the right opened occasionally, and they came in, one or two at a time, checked the clear liquid that dripped into his arm, and then left. Once, he tried to talk to them, but the few words he managed to whisper made no sense, not even to himself.

He was afraid of this place, these people. Afraid of their muffled talking in the corner of the room, words he could neither hear nor understand. Afraid when they touched him, or fed him, or even came near. Afraid, even though they never hurt him, at least not on purpose. Simply afraid, for he had no idea who he was, where he was, or where he had come from.

~vVv~

_Jean-Luc helped plan Jack's funeral._ Beverly remembered as she sat at the desk in their quarters, staring at the computer screen. She had watched him go through the motions, and years later, looking back, had been so very grateful for his help. "If only you could be here to plan your own," she whispered.

The private service would be simple enough. Just those that had been the closest to him would gather on the holodeck to hear a holographic image of Jean-Luc Picard bid them farewell. Beverly wasn't sure she'd be able to handle it. But Wesley would be there, and that would help. A little. She'd already contacted him and he was on his way now. A few transfer shuttles and he would be here. And she so wanted him to be here.

The official service was another matter altogether. It would be held in Ten Forward, and relayed throughout the ship. They would all be clad in their dress uniforms, and the eulogies would be long and heart wrenching. "And you'd hate it," she whispered again, looking over at the picture of Jean-Luc that she'd called up on the data padd. A rare one, taken on the holodeck. No uniform, just his grey slacks and tan shirt, open at the neck. He was smiling. The sun was shining. And Beverly found that she was crying. Again.

~vVv~

"Umm," he groaned and opened his eyes. One of them stood over him. It was the man with the dark hair. He came the most often. He was examining him, his hands pressing gently, but surely, across his chest and stomach.

"I'm sorry," the man said. "I know that hurts a bit. But I'm concerned about those ribs." He took some sort of instrument from his coat pocket and fitted it to his ears. Then, leaning over closer, he held the small disc at the end of it to his patient's chest. "Just breathe normally for me." He stayed there for several seconds, and then straightened. "I'm afraid there's still some congestion in your lungs. The medicine I've given you should clear that up in a few days." He put the instrument away, and taking a clipboard from the end of the bed, he jotted down several notations. Then he stared at him. "If only you could tell us who you are, where you came from. Surely you have family somewhere worrying about you."

~vVv~

"And just what do you think you're doing?" Deanna stood in the doorway of Will's room in sickbay, her arms folded in front of her.

Startled, the first officer swung his upper body around, lost his balance, and fell against the side of the bed. Deanna hurried over, put her hands on his shoulders to steady him, then helped him back into a sitting position on the edge of the bed.

He glared at her. "I was trying to walk. And I probably could have done it if you hadn't surprised me like that."

"And you probably could have fallen flat on your face and split your head open, as well." She settled on the bed beside him. "You know what Beverly said," she reminded him, gently touching his left thigh. "You are not to put any weight on this leg for at least another week. And then only in therapy."

He rubbed his eyes, then drew his fingers down over his moustache and beard, released a heavy sigh. "I've been lying in this bed now for over three weeks. I have a very intimate relationship with the nurse who rolls me over in the middle of the night to prevent bed sores. His name his Clyde."

"Will." She smiled slightly at his attempt to be humorous and softly ran her fingers along his arm. "I know you're frustrated. I know it hasn't been easy for you."

He glanced over at her. "That's an understatement. While everyone in Starfleet did their damnedest to find my captain, I was lying around in bed being turned every eight hours by a nurse who's barely out of med school. I just feel..."

"Helpless. Mad. Upset."

Will arched an eyebrow. "Thank you, Data."

Deanna shook her head, took hold of his hand, squeezed it gently. "I'm sorry."

He sighed. "No, I'm sorry." He was quiet for a moment. "There's a lot that has to be done. And I need to be able to do some of it." He turned toward her. "I need to be out of here. Back in my own quarters. On my feet. Now before you came in here, I was able to put a little weight on this leg." He shifted his gaze toward his knee. "If you could talk to one of the doctors or Beverly, surely we could speed things up a bit. Under the circumstances."

Deanna exhaled a deep breath. She knew Will Riker well enough to know when he was determined to do something. "All right. I'll talk to Beverly. Under the circumstances, I think she'll understand."

~vVv~

They'd helped him out of bed and over to the chair, but then they'd left him sitting there alone, a blanket draped over his legs. He stared at the wall, saw that the paint was beginning to peel there as well. After a while, he began to rock, slowly, back and forth; it was a comforting rhythm.

~vVv~


	14. Chapter 14

Will leaned his weight on the cane in his hand and carefully placed his left leg out in front of him. He gritted his teeth. Damn, it hurt. And the look of pain that passed across his face wasn't fleeting enough for Deanna not to notice. She was at his side in an instant.

"Sit down, Will," she murmured, taking hold of his arm and indicating a nearby chair.

Will shook his head, then his arm, refusing her assistance. "Deanna, no, it took me long enough to get on my feet, and I'm not about to sit back down until I get to the ready room."

"We can have the transporter beam you there."

He looked down at her, his eyes gleaming with a hard determination. "No," his expression softened, "but thanks for the suggestion. I'll make it there on my own, right, Beverly?" He glanced over at the doctor. She stood just inside the door of Will's room in sickbay.

"Don't look at me. This is against my better judgment."

Will took another halting step. "But, see, it's working."

Beverly frowned. "Barely." She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "Go on, Will. Get out of here. Just try to rest some." She cast a meaningful look in Deanna's direction, then turned and left.

Will continued to the door. Deanna walked beside him. They were silent as they made their way out of sickbay, into the corridors of the ship. Crew members nodded respectfully as they passed, smiles of relief crossing their faces. Deanna touched Will's shoulder. "They're glad to see you." They stopped in front of the turbolift doors, stepped inside when they opened.

Will leaned against the lift wall. "I know," he acknowledged.

"Tension on the ship has been high the past few weeks."

He nodded. You didn't need to be an empath to feel it.

"Perhaps it was a good idea to release you from Sickbay," Deanna continued. "It'll help boost morale."

Will didn't respond, just stared at the turbolift doors until they opened, and the bridge lay before them. They stepped off, and the assembled crew snapped to attention.

"At ease," Will said lightly. "As you were."

Data got up from the center chair and walked over to them. "I have relayed all messages received from Starfleet Command in the past three weeks to the ready room. There are also ship reports and communiques with the Trastorian government."

Will managed a grin. "Thanks, Data." Then he and Deanna disappeared into the ready room.

Gratefully, Will sank into the chair behind the desk, propping his cane against the edge of it. Deanna sat across from him. He activated the computer and stared at the first message. The muscles in his face hardened, and his eyes seemed to lose focus.

"Will," Deanna leaned forward, reached out and touched his hand that was resting on top of the desk.

Wordlessly, Will turned the computer screen so that she could read the message as well. It was his official promotion to captain, and his orders to take command of the _Enterprise_.

Will's hand tightened into a fist. "I never wanted it this way."

"I know," Deanna said, her fingers gently rubbing his. "None of us did."

Will looked around the ready room: the fish tank, the model of the _Stargazer_, the antique book of plays in the glass case. Traces of Jean-Luc were everywhere; they always would be. Will reached up with his other hand and rubbed at his eyes. Would they be able to go on without him? Would the ache he knew they all felt ever go away?

The small trill of the communications system caused him to look up.

"Commander," Data's voice filled the room, "we have an incoming communique from the surface of Trastor Nine."

Will drew his hand away from Deanna's and turned the computer screen back towards him. "Send it in here," he instructed, then touched a button in front of him.

The screen changed from words to the face of the Trastorian Governor.

"Governor Jarrax," Will greeted him.

"Commander, it is good to see you are well."

Will nodded absently. "I'm better, thank you. I appreciate all the support your government as given us in this situation."

The Governor closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them, stared back at Will. "That is why I am contacting you. As you know, we have done our best to relay information regarding your captain's disappearance to all official agencies throughout the planet. My office received some very startling news this morning from one of our small towns in the Northern Province. It seems a local medical center found a man fitting Captain Picard's description five days ago."

Will breathed in sharply; Deanna's hand took hold of his again, squeezed it tightly.

The Governor continued. "We believe that the man is your captain. I regret that I am only now able to inform you of this situation. But, we are a small world, Commander, and our communication technology is far less advanced than yours."

Will swallowed, hardly believing the words he was hearing, his mind already on fast forward, thinking only of going to get Jean-Luc. "I understand, Governor Jarrax, and we very much appreciate your aid in this matter. Once we've received the medical center's coordinates, we'll beam down a small away party, if that's acceptable."

The Governor nodded. "That will be fine, Commander. They're expecting you. I'm relaying those coordinates now." He smiled slightly, an expression of hope and sadness on his face. "Good luck. I wish you well. If there is any other way our government can help, please don't hesitate to inform me."

"Thank you." And the communication cut off. Will stared across the desk. "Deanna..."

She shook her head. "I don't know. The Governor seems sure..."

"I don't want to get her hopes up. We all... we all thought he was dead, and now..."

"We have to tell her anyway," Deanna decided.

Will silently agreed and tabbed his communicator. "Riker to Doctor Crusher."

The voice that answered sounded weary. "Crusher here."

Will let out the breath he'd been holding. "Beverly,..." He looked at Deanna; she smiled. He smiled back. "Beverly, I think we've found him."

~vVv~


	15. Chapter 15

There was a window by the chair, and someone had come and pulled back the curtains so that the late afternoon sun filtered through in dusty patterns on the black and white tiled floor. The light was too bright, even though it was pale and hazy; the world outside seemed wrong. He recognized the trees, knew that's what they were called, towering trunks and green leaves. He'd wandered through them, aimlessly, until he'd found his way to this place. And yet, he knew he didn't belong here.

He'd been looking for someone, something, trying to find help for himself and the other one, the one whose name he couldn't remember. Still couldn't remember. And so he rocked and tried not to think about it. Thinking made his head hurt.

~vVv~

Will leaned against the transporter console as Data, Deanna, and Beverly took their places on the pad. He wanted to go with them, but knew he would only slow them down. _Get in, and get out fast._ He kept having to remind himself that this wasn't a hostile situation. But, still, he'd feel better when they were all back on the _Enterprise_.

"I'll be waiting for you in Sickbay," he said. "Just... bring him home."

Three heads nodded in agreement as the familiar sensation of the transporter beam took hold of them, and Beverly was relieved that she was finally doing something for Jean-Luc. The man at the medical center was him; he had to be. Something inside her kept telling her that he was. And she would find him, and bring him home. And they would be together again.

"Forever," Jean-Luc had whispered in her ear at their wedding, just before he'd kissed her. "Forever."

The thought, the memory, crystallized in her mind for a moment, and then broke apart as the transporter beam transmuted and then coalesced in a hospital room on the surface of Trastor Nine.

~vVv~

If the man who greeted them had never seen a person materialize in front of his eyes before, he didn't let on. As soon as the transporter beam released them, the dark haired man stepped forward, his hand outstretched.

"I'm Doctor Drayton Tarquin," he said.

Beverly shook his hand. "I'm Doctor Beverly Crusher. This is our ship's counselor, Deanna Troi, and this is Lieutenant Commander Data."

Tarquin acknowledged them with a nod of his head. "Governor Jarrax informed me of the circumstances surrounding the disappearance of your captain. I believe he's the man we found wandering on the hospital grounds five days ago."

Deanna smiled at the doctor. "We hope so."

"He's in a room down the hall. I'll take you to him."

~vVv~

The man sitting in the chair didn't turn around when they entered the room, but Beverly knew immediately that he was Jean-Luc: the familiar line of his shoulders, the shape of his head, the close-cut fringe of silver-white hair. One large hand rested on his knee, and she knew those hands. Intimately. Hands that gestured when he spoke. Hands that could pilot a starship through any storm. Big hands that were gentle, fingers that caressed her skin tenderly.

In that instant, she felt the fist that grasped her heart relax, the tension begin to ease. They'd found him; in what condition, she wasn't sure. But he was here, alive, and at the moment that was all that mattered.

She stood just inside the door for several seconds, Deanna next to her, Doctor Tarquin and Data behind them. Her first impulse was to rush over to Jean-Luc, take her husband in her arms. And yet she was hesitant to move, to approach him, afraid that like some horrid nightmare he would vanish as soon as she drew near to him. She felt a hand touch her, fingers tightening around her arm. She glanced over at Deanna, knew that the worried expression on the counselor's face mirrored hers exactly.

"Is this your captain?" Tarquin's voice broke the silence.

Deanna turned toward him. "Yes," she answered simply. She'd known it was him even before they'd entered the room.

The Trastorian doctor frowned. "After hearing the description of Captain Picard, I knew that it must be, and yet... I was hoping that it wasn't." He swallowed, continued. "Such a strong, talented leader, and now..."

Beverly pulled her eyes away from her husband, looked back at Tarquin. "What is his condition?" she inquired, choosing to gather all the information she could before approaching him. Her manner was calm and professional, despite her fear. Under normal circumstances, she would have already enveloped Jean-Luc in her arms, but she knew that these weren't normal circumstances.

"There is extensive bruising across his stomach and back, several broken ribs. I was concerned at first that one of those ribs and punctured a lung because there is some congestion. But I haven't found any evidence of that. More than likely it's exposure to the night air. It gets very cold this time of year."

"Any indication of head injury? Brain damage?" Beverly asked reflexively and saw Deanna wince. _She's worried about me. But I have to ask. Have to know._

Tarquin nodded. "Slight bruising and swelling on the left side, behind the ear and down along the base of the skull. It's gone down a little. I can't tell if it's causing him any pain. We haven't detected any actual damage to the brain. Of course, the medical technology available to you is far more advanced than ours. Still, we've done our best to treat his injuries and make him as comfortable as possible."

"We know you have, Doctor Tarquin," Deanna assured the man, "and we are extremely grateful."

"He hasn't communicated at all?" Beverly asked softly, her eyes returning to the captain. _Jean-Luc._

Tarquin shook his head. She'd already asked this question in the corridor, but he understood her concern, her desire to ask it again, her hope that this time his answer would be different. But it wasn't. "No, not really. He has tried. A few words that neither my staff nor I could discern. Perhaps he'll respond better to you."

Beverly looked at the counselor. "Deanna?"

She frowned slightly. "I don't sense much, Beverly. Confusion. A sort of lost feeling." She sighed. "The captain's personality is so strong that normally I have very little trouble reading his emotions, even on those occasions when he's trying to block them from me. But now... It is him, and yet... it's not."

Beverly removed a tricorder from her medical kit. "May I examine him?"

"Yes, of course," Tarquin responded. "Now that you're here, he is no longer our patient, but yours. We have found that it is best to move slowly around him. Sudden movement, or loud noises, tend to frighten him."

Beverly nodded, and taking a deep breath, she moved toward Jean-Luc. _One step, two, three._ She counted them in her mind. One more and she was next to him. And still, he did not turn around.

She knelt beside his chair. "Jean-Luc?" she said his name softly, not wanting to startle him. _Look at me. Please, look at me._

At the sound of her voice, she saw his shoulders jump slightly, and slowly he turned his head away from the window. Clouded green eyes met her blue ones. Eyes that were familiar, and yet not familiar; eyes that were empty and unknowing, and she realized that she was a stranger to him.

He was dressed in a pair of light blue pajamas; his feet were bare, and he looked painfully small to her. He'd lost weight, his face looked thinner. But it was more than that. He seemed fragile, vulnerable, childish in the innocent gaze he cast in her direction.

"Jean-Luc," she repeated softly, as she laid her hand against his cheek. His skin felt warm, feverish, and she could feel him trembling at her touch. "It's me. Beverly. We've been looking for you." His gaze didn't falter. "Do you remember me, Jean-Luc?" _Oh please, say yes._

He drew his head back and blinked, but didn't answer. Beverly ran the tricorder over his body, studied the results. He was running a slight fever, and his blood pressure was low, but other than that, all other vital signs appeared normal.

Gently, she touched the left side of his head, felt the slight swelling behind his ear. The tricorder readings had ruled out the possibility of a skull fracture, but she would need to get him back to the _Enterprise_ to run further tests.

"Jean-Luc, I'm going to take a look at your stomach and back now." She lowered her hand from his head and reached out for the top button of his pajamas. He cringed and pulled further away from her. "It's all right," she whispered. "I'm not going to hurt you."

He relaxed a bit, as if he understood her words, allowed her to unbutton the pajama top and draw it off his arms. Beverly gasped when she saw the dark black and blue bruises that mottled his skin. She ran her fingers over his stomach, pressing carefully across his abdomen. His back was equally bruised. It was a miracle that there was no sign of internal bleeding. In some ways, his injuries were far less severe than Will's had been. And yet, something about them disturbed her. Whereas the head injury could possibly have been a result of the shuttle crash, the bruises seemed to have been inflicted on purpose. _Cardassians._

She felt someone standing behind her. "Beverly?" There was a question in Deanna's voice.

"I need to get him back to Sickbay," she answered, pulling his shirt back on.

Jean-Luc allowed his gaze to drift back out the window.

"He will sit like that for hours," Tarquin said, walking over to them. "Staring. Sometimes he rocks. He rarely sleeps."

Beverly stood up, looked at the doctor. "Will he eat?"

"Yes. Soup mostly. Some bread. He was severely dehydrated when we found him. We removed him from a saline IV just this morning."

As the man spoke, Jean-Luc pulled his bare feet onto the chair, drew his knees to his chest. Like a child wrapping himself in an invisible blanket, he seemed to close in on himself and shut everyone out. He began to rock.

"Doctor Tarquin," Data addressed the man. "Are there papers that need to be signed concerning our captain's release?"

He shook his head. "There are no papers. Governor Jarrax has simply instructed me to release him into your care."

Beverly laid a hand on Jean-Luc's shoulder. "Thank you, Doctor, for all you've done."

"I'm just glad we were able to help. I wish you all the best."

Data tapped his communicator. "Chief O'Brien, we have located the captain. Four to beam up, directly to Sickbay."

"Aye, Commander."

Beverly could hear the note of relief in the chief's voice, and she wrapped her arms securely around her husband. Once again she felt the familiar, almost comforting, sensation of the transporter beam envelope them. The next thing she felt was a hand squeezing her arm tightly. They were in the middle of the main examining room, and she turned towards Jean-Luc. His eyes were wide and he was trembling uncontrollably, tears beginning to stream down his cheeks. Data scooped him up in his arms, carried him over to a bio-bed, and laid him on it. Jean-Luc pushed frantically at his second officer and screamed. It was the first noise Beverly had heard him make, and it terrified her. She was suddenly aware of Alyssa beside her, a hypospray extended in her hand. Beverly grabbed it, checked the setting, and then quickly pressed it against Jean-Luc's neck. His eyes closed immediately, and he collapsed limply onto the bed. But the sound of his screams remained for a moment, a hollow echo in the silence of Sickbay.

~vVv~


	16. Chapter 16

"Doctor Tarquin was correct. There's no visible brain injury in any of the scans, although the swelling could be masking some cell damage. No sign of internal bleeding. His kidneys are bruised slightly, but it's not severe. His heart rate is normal. His temperature is barely 100 degrees, nothing to be concerned about really. He's sleeping peacefully now, and I-"

"Beverly." Will appeared in front of her, caught the doctor in his arms as she pivoted and began to pace back across her office. She blinked at him. "Slow down. You're making me dizzy just watching you."

She pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "I'm sorry, I..."

"I know." Will's hands squeezed her shoulders. "But we can't pretend that the only things wrong with him are the bruises and the fever."

She felt her body beginning to tremble, and quickly she forced herself to stop. Now was not the time to lose control, and she smiled gratefully at Will. "You're right." She helped him sit down in the chair he'd vacated, and, taking a deep breath, went and sat in her own desk chair. "I've placed Jean-Luc under a regenerative field, just as I did with you. It'll help keep him comfortable and speed his healing."

She shifted her gaze to Deanna, who'd been sitting silently in the chair beside Will's. Unspoken questions filled the counselor's eyes.

Beverly sighed. "And hopefully, it will reverse brain cell damage if there is any. I won't be able to fully diagnose him until he's conscious. And then only after the swelling's gone down. I'm going to need your help."

"You know I'll be right here," Deanna assured.

Beverly nodded her appreciation and looked back at Will.

He studied the woman in front of him. "How are you doing, Beverly?"

She was silent for several moments, staring blankly at the middle of her desk. "I'm not sure," she finally answered, her voice barely a whisper. "There's this medical part of me that takes over, keeps telling me what to do, how to react. But there's this other part that just keeps thinking... that's my husband." She looked up at Will, then over to Deanna. "That's Jean-Luc in there, and I don't know..." She reached up and rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Beverly… it's going to be all right," Deanna whispered. "He's here."

She nodded, managed a slight smile. "He's here." And yet, she knew he wasn't.

~vVv~

The ceiling was different. It was tan, not white. He stared up at it, wondering where he was. And then he remembered. They'd come for him, the red-haired woman and the others. They'd talked to him, and she had touched him, her fingers gently pressing the places where he hurt, where the bruises were. And then they'd brought him here.

He'd screamed because it had frightened him to be in one place and then suddenly to be in another. And the man had picked him up, put him on a bed. And the woman had made him sleep. But now he was awake.

His eyes had been open for a very long time before she noticed, although she'd been there all along, sitting by his bed, her head bent over. Perhaps she'd been asleep, too. But she got up now, and came and stood beside him, her eyes staring down at him.

She smiled. "Hello, Jean-Luc."

They kept calling him that. Jean-Luc.

"It's me. Beverly. Did you sleep well?" She reached a hand out toward him, and he pulled away. He'd let her touch him before, but now he wasn't sure. She'd taken him away from the white room, and he'd liked it there; at least he'd grown used to it. He did not know this place. "It's all right, Jean-Luc. No one's going to hurt you." She sat down on the edge of the bed. "Are you hungry?"

He didn't answer because he didn't understand what she was saying. They were words, he knew that. They meant something, but he didn't know what. He was supposed to know, but he didn't - couldn't - understand. He felt tears sting his eyes.

The woman noticed. "It's all right," she said again, and this time she tried to put her arms around him, and he pushed her away.

~vVv~

"No! Jean-Luc!" He came half out of his bed, arms spread wide, fingers grasping. And someone took hold of his hand.

"I'm here, Will."

His eyes flew open, focused in the darkness of his room. "Deanna?" he breathed heavily, his pulse racing, heart hammering in his chest.

"Right here."

He took another deep breath, let it out slowly. "Why… why are you here?" He could feel her fingers rubbing over his hand, warm, tender, like the touch of her mind to his.

"I'm just here," she whispered. "Go to sleep."

He closed his eyes and sighed, lying back on the bed. Silently, Deanna lay down next to him, pressing her body along the length of his back. She draped an arm over his shoulder, her hand gently stroking his beard – an old, familiar habit from long ago.

And he allowed the warmth and the memory to soothe him back to sleep.

~vVv~


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note:** Thanks for reading and reviewing! Well, Jean-Luc has found his way home - now he just has to find himself.

He spent most of his time propped up in bed, silently watching the doctor as she moved around the room. The eyes that followed her were an empty, dull green, like blank windows of a house with no one home. He ate occasionally, if she spoon fed him, but then only a few bites, which he barely chewed before swallowing. He drank a lot, though: cup after cup of warm milk, half of it dribbling down his chin onto his pajama top. Several times a day, she helped him out of bed and into the bathroom where he was able to take care of the simplest of personal needs. But she had to bathe him and change his pajamas. And all the while, he never acknowledged her presence.

But he knew she was there. For at night, the tears would come: violent, forceful rages that caused him to lash out in the darkness, flail his fists angrily against her comforting embrace. Until, exhausted, his head lolled against her shoulder, and Jean-Luc Picard slept.

_Like a baby,_ Beverly thought in the middle of the seventh night, as she gently laid him back on the bed, cushioning his head against the pillow. She softly brushed her fingers over his forehead, and watched, in sad fascination, as Jean-Luc's thumb found his mouth. _Like a baby._ The thought sped through her mind again, and she hastily wiped her own tears from her eyes. He curled up under the blanket, drew his knees up to his chest. And Beverly breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for the few hours of rest his slumber would afford him. As long as there were no nightmares, it was his only haven.

"Beverly?"

She turned away from Jean-Luc's bed, found Deanna standing beside her. "I didn't hear you come in," she whispered.

"Your thoughts were elsewhere." Deanna placed her hand on the doctor's shoulder. "Why don't we go get a cup of tea?"

Beverly looked back at Jean-Luc, shook her head. She couldn't leave him.

"He's sleeping, Beverly."

"He might wake up."

"I'll know if he does. Besides, we'll just be next door. Come on." She pulled gently on her friend's arm, and Beverly realized she was only trying to help.

"All right," she gave in reluctantly, leaning over and softly kissing her husband's cheek before they left.

~vVv~

The tea was good. It made her feel warm for the first time in days. She took another sip and looked across her desk at Deanna. "I don't need a counseling session."

"I wasn't offering one. Remember? All I offered was that cup of tea you're drinking."

Beverly smiled slightly.

"And you should try one of those sandwiches." Deanna glanced at the plate on the desk.

"I'm not really hungry," she insisted, but picked up a sandwich and took a bite anyway. She looked nervously toward the door.

"He's resting easy," Deanna assured her.

Beverly nodded, knowing the counselor could sense his feelings even when he was asleep, all the pain, and confusion, and fear. "He's gone, isn't he?" She stared into Deanna's deep, black eyes.

"Not completely. There's still a part of him there. It's just..."

"What?" she asked quickly, grasping at hope.

"It's just buried so deeply that I'm not sure we'll ever reach it."

Beverly exhaled a deep breath. "Then he'll be like this forever?"

"He could be."

"No!" she slammed her teacup on the desk. "I won't accept that."

"Beverly." Deanna's voice was firm. "I'm not planning on accepting it either, but it is a possibility."

Beverly was silent for long moments. "Sometimes, I look at him, and I find myself thinking that he's all right. That he's just here because he has Andorian Flu or something. And I keep expecting him to demand that I release him. But he never says anything. If only I hadn't..." Her voice trailed off.

Deanna reached over and touched the hands that were wrapped tightly around the teacup. "It isn't your fault," she whispered as Beverly's grip relaxed.

"Isn't it?" She looked at the counselor with tear-filled eyes. "I should never have allowed him to go without a security officer."

"Even Security may not have been able to make a difference," Deanna reasoned calmly. "You had no way of knowing something like this would happen."

"It wouldn't have if he'd been here, where he should have been."

"I could be saying the same thing right now about Will." Deanna drew her hand away, studied the doctor, carefully weighed what she was about to say. "Perhaps we should take all the people we love and put them in little glass boxes. That way they'd never be hurt, and neither would we. But, of course, life in a little glass box isn't much of a life."

"What he has now isn't much of a life," Beverly snapped, then controlled her anger and sighed exhaustively. "I'm sorry, Deanna. I shouldn't be yelling at you when I'm really mad at myself."

Deanna smiled faintly. "It's all right. We're all frustrated."

Beverly swallowed, her eyes blinking rapidly. "He's terrified, and I don't... I don't know what to do for him. Every time I try to touch him, he pulls away, unless he's half asleep, and then I'm not sure if he even knows I'm there." She brushed hastily at the tears on her cheeks. "And when he's awake... he doesn't know me, Deanna."

"He doesn't know himself," she said quietly.

Beverly stared at her desk, then looked back at the counselor. "What do we do?"

"Just what we're doing now. Be there for him, whether he knows us or not."

Deanna was right. She knew that, and yet... She took a deep breath. "It's difficult. Seeing him so helpless. Watching him sleep like... like a baby. Feeding him, dressing him... He can't be like this forever."

Deanna heard the desperation in Beverly's voice. "Beverly, I do think he will get better. You've determined yourself that there is no sign of actual brain damage. Whatever has happened has caused him to regress a great deal. So in many ways, he is very much like a baby. But babies grow."

"But he doesn't have another fifty years to become Jean-Luc Picard again." She shook her head, rubbed at her eyes. "He may never be Jean-Luc again."

"But he might." Deanna reached out and squeezed her hand. "Remember, we have to be aware of all the possibilities, keep them in mind, and at the same time," she touched her other hand to her heart, "not give up the hope we have in here."

~vVv~


	18. Chapter 18

_The last thing Will Riker remembered was the jagged-edged face of a Cardassian sneering down at him - that, and the sound of Jean-Luc Picard screaming._

He stared at the cane leaning against the desk, the curved handle hooked on the edge. Deanna said he didn't need it now, that he could walk without it, that the pain he felt was no longer in his leg. But she was wrong. It was in his leg, and in his mind, and in his soul. He wondered if it would ever go away, or if, like the uneven planes of the Cardassian's face, it would be rough and sharp inside him forever.

Deanna said he was carrying the cane as a subconscious reminder of what had happened to him. To them both. As if he could ever forget. The nightmares, like old friends who came to visit and never left, were constant. They woke him in the middle of the night, trembling and cold with sweat, caused him to cry out the captain's name. The dark shadows around him remained silent. There were no voices in hell.

Sometimes, Deanna would stay with him. He told her it wasn't necessary. But she knew better. For when the disjointed images came, disturbing his sleep, she was there to hold him, comfort him, touch her hands to his face, remind him that he was alive. And he was relieved - relieved that she was there, even if he wasn't always sure he wanted to be.

He reached out and touched the smooth wood of the cane. He wasn't ready to let it go, wasn't quite prepared to stand on his own. Wasn't really sure he ever would be. He didn't need it for a reminder, even if he were in danger of forgetting. All the reminder he needed was the man in Sickbay, the haunted green eyes that seemed to pierce through him every time he went there; they were eyes that cut to his very soul and yet, they were eyes that saw nothing... Nothing, except perhaps the jagged faces.

Deanna said it wasn't his fault. She was trying to help him, ease his conscience. But he was beginning to feel that sometimes Deanna said too much. He closed his fingers around the cane, gripped it so tightly his knuckles were white from the pressure, the bones of his hand outlined sharply under ashen skin. Deanna kept telling him he needed to rest, that he wasn't looking well, that his color wasn't good. Someday, he might learn to sleep through the night without dreams, but Will Riker knew he would never rest again.

~vVv~

She held his chin in her hand, fingers pressing into his cheeks. Each time she lowered the spoon from his mouth, he would try to look away, turn his face from hers. But at least he's eating. That in itself was an accomplishment because he rarely ate. Getting him to open his mouth and swallow was still a battle.

"One more bite," she sighed, nudging the soup-filled spoon against his lower lip.

He didn't move.

"Open your mouth." She ran her thumb along his lips, trying to make them part.

He shook his head, upsetting the spoon, chicken soup spilling onto his chest. She sighed, set the empty spoon and soup bowl back on the bedside table. Taking a damp cloth, Beverly carefully wiped at the stain on Jean-Luc's pajamas.

"Can I help?" A deep voice came from the doorway behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder. Will stood there, leaning on his cane.

"You can try," she replied, tucking the cloth under Jean-Luc's chin. "But I don't think he's very hungry."

Will came over to the bed and carefully sat down on the opposite edge. Picking the soup bowl back up, she handed it to him.

Jean-Luc's eyes had shifted from Beverly to Will, but the expression on his face remained unchanged – there was no spark of recognition or interest.

Will lifted a spoonful of soup to his captain's lips, and, surprisingly, his mouth opened and he allowed Will to feed him – one spoonful and then another.

Beverly watched silently, afraid to say anything.

When the bowl was empty and Will handed it back to her, Jean-Luc closed his eyes and nestled down into the bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

Beverly stared at Will, shaking her head. "How did you do that?" she whispered.

He shrugged. "I don't know. I guess he was hungry after all."

She reached over and laid a hand on his arm. "Thank you, Will."

~vVv~

The days seemed to repeat themselves, fall into a pattern. Jean-Luc would eat and sleep, and cry out in the middle of the night. But he never talked. His injuries began to heal, the bruises faded, but he was still thin, his cheeks sunken and hollow. And after two weeks, there was no change in his mental condition. Beverly Crusher made the hardest decision she'd ever had to make in her life.

"I think we should take him back to San Francisco. I've talked with Starfleet Medical. They agree."

Will felt as if someone had just fired a fully charged phaser point blank at his chest. Not that he hadn't seen this coming, but to hear the words made the situation seem hopeless now. He was afraid that if Jean-Luc Picard left the _Enterprise_ he would never return.

Deanna sensed the turmoil in the first officer. She placed her hand over his. "It's the best thing for him," she assured, knowing professionally that she was right, but feeling just as lost and confused as Will.

"But at least here he's with people he knows... Or almost knows," he added quietly.

Beverly took a deep breath. "He won't be alone."

Will nodded. "And Wesley will be there. That'll be good."

"Yes, it will be," Beverly said with relief.

Wesley was the only bright spot. After they'd found Jean-Luc, she'd managed to contact him before he'd made his first shuttle transfer. It had been difficult, but she'd talked him into returning to Earth. And now she and Jean-Luc would be going back as well - the whole family together, but it wasn't the homecoming she'd wanted.

She sighed and pulled her thoughts back to the conversation. "Starfleet Medical is going to relay the request through official channels. You should be notified within the hour."

Will leaned back in the captain's chair, rubbed his fingers nervously over his beard. He swallowed, licked his lips hesitantly. "How long, Beverly?"

"I don't know."

A moment passed. Then Will slowly exhaled a deep breath. "We're going to miss you. Both."

~vVv~


	19. Chapter 19

The orders came through from Starfleet, and the ship changed course for home.

Will sat alone in the captain's ready room, feeling uncomfortably alien in the surroundings. His command of the ship was indefinite now, and the permanency of it scared him. Not that he doubted his abilities; he'd just never envisioned the circumstances. Whenever he'd given thought to captaining the _Enterprise_, he'd always imagined Jean-Luc Picard as a kindly, distinguished admiral giving long-distance advice and words of wisdom to his former first officer. But now... The door chime sounded abruptly.

"Come."

The door slid open, and Deanna walked in.

Will sighed. "I'm glad it's you."

She smiled softly. "Not up to anyone else?" she asked, taking a seat across from him.

"To be honest, no." He propped his elbows on the desk, squeezed his eyes closed, rubbed his forehead.

"Everything's going to be all right, Will."

He looked up at her. "You say that like you know."

"Sometimes there is a very thin line between belief and hope. Between reality and what we want."

Will stared into Deanna's eyes. "But we don't always get what we want."

"No. But that shouldn't stop us from hoping. Sometimes hope is all we have."

He leaned back. "How do you do it? How do you remain so damned philosophical?" There was a touch of anger in his voice. "Do you really believe all the things you tell people, or is it just emotional pablum you throw out hoping to soothe troubled minds?"

Deanna looked down at her hands, folded on her lap. She didn't respond.

"I'm sorry," Will said a moment later. "I'm just..."

She looked back at him, the expression on her face soft and compassionate. "I know what you're feeling, Will. Don't be afraid to feel it."

He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. His blue eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I can't do this, Deanna. I can't take his place."

Deanna reached over and took hold of his hand. "You have to. At least for now."

He lifted her hand to his face, and she gently wiped at the tears that were now rolling down his cheeks. She went around the desk and knelt beside him, took him in her arms. And together they cried for the man who did not know them anymore.

~vVv~


	20. Chapter 20

Starfleet Medical Complex was big. Not quite as big as the _Enterprise_, but if Beverly Crusher had never been Chief of Staff for over a year, she would have gotten lost. As it was, there weren't too many areas that she and Jean-Luc had to visit during the day. He spent most of his time in his room, and the doctors and therapists came to him.

Upon their arrival in San Francisco, Beverly had reopened the small house she'd shared with Jack all those years ago, although she rarely spent time there. Most of her day, and night, was spent at the complex with Jean-Luc. Some of the doctors had even teasingly accused her of not trusting them with her patient. But that was only half of it. The truth was, she didn't trust herself to be away from him. For when she was alone, the memories and the ghosts of the past crowded in and around her too closely.

It had been good to see Wesley, though. Academy life was treating him well. He'd grown into a fine, young man, and more than once, he'd allowed his mother to cry on his shoulder.

~vVv~

The silver light of an early morning filtered through the curtained window. Beverly sat in a chair in the corner of the room and listened to the soft sound of Jean-Luc's uneven breathing. On the average, he woke, then cried himself to sleep three or four times during the night. But the hours between five and eight were good. He slept, and she watched.

Getting up from her chair, she walked over to his bed and gazed down at him. The pale face was unusually peaceful, the tears dried, all lines of stress smoothed. She gently touched his cheek. He still slept with his thumb between his lips, his other hand curled against his neck. Almost a month now since they'd found him, and he was still lost.

~vVv~

Beverly awoke to the sound of someone singing. In French. She sat up quickly, and looked at the bed. Jean-Luc was sitting up, leaning against the pillows, his head bent back, his eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling. And he was singing, softly, hypnotically, a tune she'd heard him hum before.

She wanted to rush over, grab him by the shoulders, and shake him to get his attention, but she stopped herself. Slowly, quietly, she moved to the side of the bed. "Jean-Luc," she said his name gently.

The singing stopped abruptly, but his green-eyed, empty gaze persisted.

"Jean-Luc," she said again, this time placing her fingers against his chin and turning his face toward her. For a split second, she thought she saw a glimpse of recognition in his eyes. "Good morning, Jean-Luc. That was a nice song you were singing. Does it have a name?"

Jean-Luc remained silent, but his eyes roamed over Beverly's face, really looking at her. And then, he spoke. "Hungry." The one word seemed to echo off the sparsely decorated walls.

Beverly sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. Tears sprang to her eyes, even as a smile broke across her face. "Either you're ready for breakfast, or that's a strange name for a song."

He didn't seem to understand her words, for a look of confusion stole into the once blank eyes. "Hungry," he repeated, this time a little more forcefully.

"All right." She reached over and pushed the call button next to his pillow.

A moment later, a nurse stuck her head in the door. "Good morning," Terris Shannon said brightly, seeing that they were both awake. The staff was accustomed to the doctor spending her nights in the chair by Jean-Luc's bed. "I'll bet you two are ready for some breakfast."

"Yes, we are," Beverly answered, patting one of Jean-Luc's blanket-covered knees, "because we are..." she hesitated, looked back at him.

His confusion deepened. He was impatient, and he didn't understand the delay. He wanted something to eat. Now. "Hungry," he shouted, tears beginning to form.

Shannon gasped and stared at Beverly. "He talked."

She nodded emphatically. "Yes, he did." Then she pointed a finger at the nurse. "And, if I'm not mistaken, I believe he gave you a direct order. Roughly translated, Captain Picard would like his breakfast: a bowl of oatmeal, scrambled eggs, and a glass of tomato juice."

"Yes, Doctor," Shannon smiled, "and I'll inform Doctor Hadrian of the good news." She backed out of the room; the door closed behind her.

Beverly looked back at Jean-Luc. Silent tears of frustration were trailing down his face. She reached out, rubbed his shoulder with one hand, wiped the tears away with the other. "It's all right. She's bringing you something to eat."

He sat very still, his breathing deep, his lower lip jutting out poutingly like a forlorn child.

_All right,_ Beverly thought, _if he can say one word, he can say others._

She looked into his eyes. "Jean-Luc, do you know who I am?"

There was no response.

She asked the question again. "Jean-Luc, do you know my name?"

Still no answer.

She made the task simpler. "My name is Beverly. Can you say Beverly?"

A moment later, Jean-Luc's lips moved and he spoke. It was barely a whisper, unclear, but unmistakably the name Beverly.

"Oh, that's wonderful, Jean-Luc," she exclaimed and pulled him into a hug. Startled, he recoiled, and she dropped her arms. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

He drew back into his pillows, allowed his gaze to drift from her face.

"Jean-Luc. Look at me."

But he wouldn't. Even when she turned his face toward hers, he refused to make eye contact. And so, five minutes later, when Doctor Hadrian came into the room, he was just as unfocused as always.

"He said my name," Beverly insisted, watching Tolbert Hadrian examine Jean-Luc. "He said the word 'hungry' three times."

"I believe you, Beverly," Hadrian assured, leaning Jean-Luc forward, running a tricorder over his chest and back. He studied the results, and then ran the tricorder over him again. Jean-Luc submitted willingly to the examination, having gone through the same procedure several times a day during the past weeks. Hadrian took a look at the tricorder again, then put it in the pocket of his lab jacket. "Everything's normal."

Beverly was struck by the irony of his words. Jean-Luc was far from normal. Hadrian noticed the expression on her face.

"You know what I mean," he sighed. "Physically, he's in the same condition as he was yesterday. No better, no worse."

"But he can talk," Beverly stressed.

"Apparently so. If he wants to."

"Ah," she nodded, "that's the problem. He can be very stubborn."

Hadrian inclined his head towards the door. "Can I talk to you outside?"

Beverly hesitated for a moment, looked down at Jean-Luc. He didn't even seem to know they were there; if she left, he probably wouldn't notice at all. She nodded, and followed the doctor into the corridor. She leaned tiredly against the wall; he stood before her, arms crossed over his chest.

She'd known Tolbert Hadrian for years. When Starfleet Medical placed him in charge of Jean-Luc's treatment, she hadn't objected. He was outstanding in the field of emotional disorders, and she trusted his judgment.

He looked over at her. "If he's going to talk, more than likely it'll be to you. Now, what I'm about to propose isn't going to be easy. Not for him; not for you."

Her eyes lit with interest. "Propose it anyway."

"All right. Ever since he arrived here, we've been catering to his every need. There's really been no reason for him to talk."

"So... you're suggesting we give him a reason?"

"Exactly. Make him ask for things. The way he more-or-less asked for breakfast. See if you can get him to identify the foods he wants by name before you feed them to him. And you may want to get him to try feeding himself. At least give it a shot." He smiled slightly. "We can't starve him, but we can push him a little."

She nodded in agreement. "You're right. He probably needs some pushing." Then she frowned. "I tend to be... overly protective of him."

Hadrian looked at her in mock surprise. "Really? You?"

She slapped him lightly on the arm. "Tolbert!"

"Give it a try, Beverly."

"I will. But he may just decide that eating isn't too terribly important to him after all."

Hadrian shook his head. "Maybe. But I think this morning is a good indication that he's ready to communicate."

She drew in a deep breath. "I hope so."

He smiled encouragingly. "So do I. I'll check in on him later."

"Thanks, Tolbert." Beverly turned and went back into the room.

~vVv~


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Note:** Thanks for reading and reviewing! I appreciate the positive feedback. Picard's mental and emotional regression is very deep, and in the following chapters he will seem very childlike. If this bothers you, then the rest of the story may not be your cup of Earl Grey. I just wanted to let you know. JT

The song had been in his dreams, along with the images of the man and the boy. There had been a room, with lots of windows and sunlight streaming in, and the man had been sitting in a chair singing the song. And then, the room was gone, and it was dark. The boy's face had leaned over him, tired and dirty, and he'd lay on the hard ground singing the song. The song. He started to sing it when he opened his eyes.

The woman hugged him, and he pulled away. He was hungry. He told her. She said she'd get him something to eat.

Her name was Beverly. He could remember that now. But he didn't know why.

She was gone. But she'd be back. He was still hungry.

~vVv~

Jean-Luc was staring at the plate of food she held in her hand, and Beverly realized that this was the most attention he'd given any one thing since they'd found him. _All right,_ she thought to herself as she set the tray on the bed table, _here goes nothing._ She picked up the spoon, placed it in the bowl of oatmeal, and stirred. It was hot, and steam rose. With her other hand, she unfolded a napkin and spread it over his chest. He took very little notice, his eyes still fastened to the food.

"Jean-Luc," her voice was calm as she sat down on the edge of his bed, "do you know what this is?"

He didn't answer.

"It's one of your favorites," she continued, "it even has brown sugar on top, just the way you like it."

Still nothing.

She lifted a spoonful out of the bowl, held it in front of him. "It's oatmeal, Jean-Luc. Can you say oatmeal for me?"

He looked longingly at the spoon. "Hungry," he whispered.

"I know. But I want you to say oatmeal for me first. Can you do that?"

His mouth opened slackly, and he whimpered, tears filled his eyes.

"Oatmeal," she over-enunciated the word.

His hands came up to his chest and he began to pull frustratingly at the napkin. She set the spoon back in the bowl, then reached out and took hold of his fingers, stopped the nervous movement.

"Concentrate, Jean-Luc. Oatmeal," she repeated, lifting the spoon again.

His face twisted, and tears began to flow freely down his cheeks. For a moment, Beverly was tempted to give in: feed him the oatmeal without him having to ask for it. After all, maybe he was asking for it in the only way he knew how.

He groaned and pulled free of her grasp, his hand lunging toward the spoon. She pulled back.

"No, Jean-Luc," she reprimanded firmly. "You have to ask for it. I know you can."

His head tossed back and forth on the pillow, the frustration building into anger. Quickly, he dropped his hand, and grabbed at the bowl, his fingers catching the edge of it, tipping it over. Before he could get a firm grip on it, though, Beverly pulled it away.

"No!" Her voice was louder, and Jean-Luc shrank back as if he'd been slapped, turning over on his shoulder, so that she could only see the left side of his face. Then, realizing that some of the oatmeal had gotten on his hand, he stuck his fingers in his mouth. Beverly noticed a slight smile form on his face.

"So, you're pretty pleased with yourself, are you?" She placed the spoon back in the bowl. "Well, one handful of oatmeal isn't going to satisfy you for long."

Seemingly angered by her words, Jean-Luc suddenly swung his left arm at her, pushing himself up off the pillow with his right hand. His wrist connected with the glass of tomato juice, and sent it toppling off the tray, and over the edge of the bed table. Beverly jumped up, just missing being soaked. The glass landed on the bed, the juice spreading over the blanket. Roughly, he shoved at the small bed table, upsetting the rest of the food. Scrambled eggs landed on the bed. He kicked the blanket back, sending half the food onto the floor.

Beverly stood watching him, her hands on her hips. Realizing there was no longer anything nearby to push at, he drew his knees up to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and began to rock, slowly, back and forth, his eyes staring straight ahead.

The left leg of his pajamas, from mid-thigh to down past his knee, was soaked with juice. Beverly sighed, went over to the dresser, placed the bowl of oatmeal on top of it, and then pulled out another pair of pajama pants.

She approached the bed. "All right, Jean-Luc, breakfast is being postponed due to your little temper tantrum." She disliked being firm with him, but getting him out of a pair of pajamas was like wrestling with a two-year-old, only Jean-Luc was much stronger, and put up a better fight. She put her hand on his knee. "Now, untangle yourself and let me put these on you."

He didn't pull away, he didn't lash out, but continued to rock, beginning to hum the song he'd been singing earlier. She pulled his arms apart and was surprised when he didn't resist. He allowed her to straighten his legs out on the bed, and didn't seem to be bothered at all when she untied his pajama pants and slid them off. In less than a minute, she pulled the other pair on, first one leg, then the other, and tied them securely around his thin waist.

"Jean-Luc?" she said the name softly, be he didn't respond. Trance-like, he stared across the room, his eyes fixed on nothing. She'd lost him again; lost him to that other world, the one that existed only in his mind. She didn't like him this way. Actually preferred wrestling with him. At least then he seemed more alive. She sighed, reached out and rubbed his cheek. Jean-Luc ducked his head, nestled back into the pillow.

"All right, you rest while I take care of this." She removed the wet blanket, and replaced it with a clean one. Then she threw the remains of his breakfast down the disposal chute.

"There," she smiled, returning to the bed and sitting down beside him.

Jean-Luc put his hands on top of the blanket, rubbed his fingers over the softness. Then he started to rock again.

She grasped his shoulder, gently but firmly, and made him stop. "I thought you were hungry."

The word seemed to flip a switch and his eyes brightened. "Hungry?"

Beverly's smile broadened. "Yes, hungry." She motioned over her shoulder. "There's a bowl of cold oatmeal back there with your name on it. All yours for the asking."

The corners of his mouth twitched, but then it firmed into a hard line.

"I know you can say it, Jean-Luc. Oatmeal."

He swallowed, and his eyes seemed to plead silently with her.

"Well, I've got all morning. I'm not going anywhere. Except maybe over there to that chair." And she got up, went to the cushioned chair, and sank into it. Jean-Luc's eyes followed her and for several minutes they stared at each other.

"Beverly?" It was a whisper.

Beverly barely breathed. "Yes, Jean-Luc?"

The square jaw trembled, and he licked his lips. "O-oatmeal," he stuttered.

Beverly sat in stunned silence, and when she didn't react immediately, Jean-Luc's eyes clouded over. But despite his quivering lips, he murmured, "C-cold oatmeal," then exhaled deeply, "please."

She laughed out loud, jumped to her feet and in a single stride was at the edge of the bed, enveloping Jean-Luc in her arms, holding him tightly. And for the first time, she felt him hold back, his hands pressing possessively into her shoulders. But the embrace lasted only a moment, and then he pulled away, looked directly into her eyes. "Oatmeal." And this time, the word was clear and precise, and she went over to the dresser and returned with the bowl. She settled on the edge of the bed. Jean-Luc's mouth dropped open, and she spooned a cold bite of oatmeal into it. He swallowed, opened his mouth again. She smiled wearily. It was a beginning, but she didn't like thinking of how far he had to go.

~vVv~


	22. Chapter 22

He stared at Beverly's chair. It was empty. He looked around the room. No one was there.

He sat up, and pushed his legs over the edge of the bed. She had to be somewhere. And he had to find her, bring her back here, with him, where she belonged.

He slid out of the bed. The floor was cold, but he didn't have any shoes, and he didn't know where they kept his robe. He pulled the blanket off the bed and draped it around his shoulders. He went to the door and opened it, looked outside, saw no one. Quietly, he left the room.

~vVv~

"He what?" Beverly exclaimed.

"He, uh, sort of got lost."

"Lost? You lost my husband?"

"Take it easy," Hadrian said calmly. "We found him."

"Where?"

"He was down in one of the labs."

"One of the labs!" She leaned heavily against the wall, rubbed her forehead. "I don't believe this. I go home for a couple of hours, and you lose him."

"Now see here," Hadrian bristled slightly, "we did not lose him. He wandered away of his own free will."

"How in the hell did he get off this floor?"

The man rolled his eyes. "Beverly, he's Jean-Luc Picard."

That was the only explanation he needed to give. Beverly knew Jean-Luc could find his way out of a maze, blindfolded, regardless of his mental state. But still...

"I want someone watching him constantly when I'm not here."

Hadrian sighed, and rather than argue with her, he agreed. "All right."

The expression on Beverly's face softened. "Thanks. I didn't mean to be so... It's just that..."

He laid a hand on her arm. "I know."

She nodded her silent appreciation, then looked towards Jean-Luc's door. "Is he asleep?"

"No. Not now. He slept for all of fifteen minutes after we found him and brought him back. Needless to say, his adventure wasn't very tiring for him."

Beverly smiled. "It takes a lot to wear him out."

Hadrian pushed her gently towards the door. "Go on in. He's been asking for you."

"Really?"

He nodded. "Either that, or he's named his blanket Beverly."

"His blanket?"

"You'll see."

The door slid open as Beverly approached and she stepped inside. Jean-Luc wasn't in his bed. He was kneeling on a chair by the window, peering through the curtains. In his left hand, he clutched the light green blanket from his bed. It draped over his shoulder, across his back, and onto the floor. Beverly looked back questioningly at Hadrian.

The man shrugged. "He dragged it all the way down to the labs with him, and he refused to let me put it back on the bed. I think it's his security blanket."

At the sound of Hadrian's voice, Jean-Luc turned his head away from the window. A broad smile spread over his face. "Beverly," he said with a sense of relief.

Beverly crossed over to him, and Jean-Luc reached out and hugged her. She stroked his cheek.

"Beverly," he murmured again.

"It's all right." She pulled away, held him by the shoulders. "Tolbert told me about your little adventure. You listen to me; you are never, ever to leave this room by yourself." Her tone was gently scolding, and tears immediately welled up in Jean-Luc's eyes.

He placed his hand against her face. "Not here."

"No, Jean-Luc, I wasn't here. I went home for a little while. But I told you that I'd be back soon. Remember?"

He shook his head. He never could remember things. "Not here," he said again, looking up at her.

"So, you went to look for me?" She smiled and drew a tissue from her coat pocket, tenderly wiped Jean-Luc's eyes.

He nodded. "Go find."

"I know. But don't ever do it again. Do you understand me?"

"Stay here," he answered, and Beverly wasn't sure if he meant for her to stay, or if he were assuring her that he would stay.

But she agreed with him all the same. "That's right. Stay here."

He yawned then, and reached up and rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his right hand. So, his outing had tired him after all.

"You need some sleep," she laughed. "Come on." She took him by the hand and helped him out of the chair. "Let's get you to bed." She led him across the room, and he almost stumbled when the blanket tangled around his legs. "Here, let me take that." She reached for the blanket.

"No!" Jean-Luc held a corner of it close to his chest.

"I'll give it back."

He shook his head. "Mine."

"All right."

Gathering his blanket tighter around him, Jean-Luc followed her over to the bed and climbed up on it. He stretched out on his stomach, and she managed to pull a sheet over him. The blanket tangled around the upper portion of his body, but it didn't cover his legs.

"Let me spread that out." She offered and reached for it again.

"Mine." He held it tightly.

Beverly sighed and gave up. She pulled the chair over next to the bed and sat down.

"Stay here," he murmured. Then he closed his eyes, twisted a fistful of blanket up under his chin, stuck his thumb in his mouth. And within a few minutes, he was asleep.

~vVv~


	23. Chapter 23

_It was cold. And dark. And he was alone. Yet not alone. The wind howled around him, through him, chilled him. Cold. Colder than he'd ever felt in all his life._

_He reached out in the darkness, looking for something, anything, that was familiar to him. His uniform, his communicator. Nothing was there. Just the cold. The cold. And the voices._

_They started low, soft. Coming to him on the wind, creeping up the sides of the mountains, whispers in his mind. And then they were screaming, screaming, and-_

He screamed, sat straight up in bed, trembling, tears coursing down his cheeks. Beverly was beside him, taking him in her arms, and he clung to her. She was warm, and real. Safe. He was safe.

"Shh," she whispered, her hand rubbing his neck and back. "You're all right. I'm here."

She was here. With him. He was all right. The voices couldn't hurt him. Not here, not now. But he could still hear them, far away, screaming, screaming. And then, they were gone.

~vVv~

"You can't!"

Hadrian turned away from his filing cabinet, and stared at Beverly.

"I'm sorry, Tolbert." She lowered her voice and sank back into the chair. "I know you're in charge, but the psychiatric ward... For Jean-Luc?"

He sat down behind his desk, studied her carefully. "Why not for Jean-Luc? Our psychiatry program is the best in the Federation. You know that."

She nodded resignedly. "Yes, but does he have to stay there?"

"I know how you feel. But he's been in intensive care for almost a month. He can't remain there indefinitely. He needs to be with other people. And he can receive more rehabilitative therapy in the psychiatric ward."

"But he's improving already. He talks; he feeds himself, even dresses himself."

"Beverly," the man's voice softened, "he babbles like a two-year-old, he eats with his fingers and most of the food he feeds himself lands on his chest, and the only clothes he can put on are pajamas. And I suspect he can't button those, can he?"

She lowered her eyes. "No, he can't."

Hadrian shook his head. "We can't let our feelings get in the way of what's best for Jean-Luc."

"The psychiatric ward is not best for him. Tolbert, if we put him there, he won't-"

"He won't what?"

She leveled her gaze at the man. "If we put him there, he won't come back."

Hadrian sighed. "You're being melodramatic, Beverly. If he doesn't receive further therapy, chances are he won't ever come back."

"I agree with that. He needs the program. But does he have to live there?"

Hadrian looked at her cautiously. "What exactly are you asking?"

"Let me take him home," she said eagerly.

His eyes widened. "Home?"

"My place, our place" she answered quickly. "Our home. And I can bring him here every day for therapy."

He leaned back in his chair. "I don't know..."

"It'll be a familiar place to him. Granted, it's been years, but there was a time when Jean-Luc visited that house a lot."

Hadrian understood what she was saying. He and Jack Crusher had also been good friends, and he could remember many a Saturday night backyard barbecue himself.

"You'd be taking on quite a responsibility," he warned.

"I took on that responsibility the day I married him," she replied. " And don't forget I'm a doctor, too. I can assure you, it's a responsibility I can handle."

He studied the woman across from him. "He's your husband, Beverly. You don't need my permission, and yet…"

"I would like your support," she said quietly, "and your recommendation does mean a great deal to me." She hesitated. "I just want him home, Tolbert."

He gave her a gentle smile. "I understand. Would you like me to discuss this with the rest of his team, or do you want to make the final decision now?"

Beverly nodded. "I do want to know what they recommend." She got up, headed for the door. "But… I've made my choice."

Hadrian's voice stopped her. "Beverly."

She looked back.

"I'm sure they'll agree with you. That home is the best place for him."

~vVv~


	24. Chapter 24

Beverly stared at the picture she held in her hand. It was, most definitely, a starship. Actually, a convoluted conglomeration of the _Enterprise_ and the _Stargazer_. The red planet drawn beside it was more than likely Vulcan. And she shivered involuntarily when she realized what the small box shape was: a Borg ship.

She sat on the edge of the sofa and looked down at the man sitting on the floor beside the coffee table. She smiled at him, reached out and rubbed her fingers over his cheek. There was more chalk on his face and hands than on the picture. He shrugged away from her, and Beverly sighed. He still didn't like to be touched, except when the nightmares came, and then he would cling to her as she held him, rocking him gently in her arms, until he fell asleep again.

But there were no nightmares here, now, in the middle of the afternoon, with the warm September sun slanting in through the living room windows, dancing over the coffee table's rainbow array of chalk and paper. The art supplies were a gift from Deanna, and he drew constantly. Already the kitchen cabinets were covered with pictures of planets and stars and friends. And the portraits were really quite good. Will Riker's bearded face, Data's yellow eyes, Geordi LaForge's silver visor stared back at Beverly when she prepared their meals. It was nice to have them around.

She leaned forward, held the paper out in front of her. "Tell me about it. Is this Vulcan?" She pointed to the planet.

But he didn't answer, just bent his head back over the table and started on another picture. He rarely spoke, though she knew he could. Sometimes he woke at night, mumbling incoherently. Sometimes he would scream out her name. But they never had conversations; at least not real ones. Whatever thoughts he had remained his own, bound up inside his mind with the memory and fear of what had happened to him. And only he knew what that had been. And until he was able to tell her, there was very little that she could do to help.

Beverly simply took care of him, in much the same way she'd taken care of Wesley when he was three years old. She bathed and dressed him. Fed him his favorite foods. Read him books, and told stories. Wiped his tears away when he cried. She protected him from others: the doctors at Starfleet Medical who frightened him, the psychiatrists who asked him questions he could not answer, and old friends, like Gregory Quinn and Ruah Brackett, who couldn't forget the man he'd been, and would grow uncomfortable around him, making him extremely uncomfortable as well.

Beverly couldn't forget the man he'd been either, but she'd learned not to let it show. She realized his limitations, and tempered her expectations of him, neither expecting too much or too little. But as the days passed, and grew into weeks, she never accepted the fact that he might be like this forever. She knew, whether Starfleet Medical believed it or not, that someday Jean-Luc Picard would return from that silent world within his mind.

~vVv~

A month had passed since the day Tolbert Hadrian had agreed to let her take him home. He'd warned her that it wouldn't be easy, and it hadn't been. But Beverly didn't regret her decision.

~vVv~

She hadn't meant to yell at him. That was the last thing she'd wanted to do. But how many times had she told him not to use the replicator on his own? She was pleased that he could ask for things: cereal, cookies, hot tea. But he invariably made a mess, and this time he'd spilled the Earl Grey over his hand and burned himself.

It was partly her fault. She shouldn't have left him alone for so long. But she'd been wrapped up in writing letters when she'd heard him cry out. She'd found him standing in the middle of the kitchen, the broken cup of tea on the floor. And she'd yelled even before she realized that he was hurt.

"I've told you not to use this by yourself!"

What had previously been only sniffles intensified, and the tears flowed down his cheeks. It was then that she saw how red his hand was.

"Oh, no." She grabbed hold of him, pulled him over to the sink, and stuck his hand under a cool stream of water. He tensed beside her. "I'm sorry, Jean-Luc. I didn't know." She looked at the hand closely. "I don't think it's too bad." She reached up into a cabinet and pulled down her medical kit. She extracted a small bottle from it, and lightly sprayed an antiseptic over the burn. "There. That'll help."

Jean-Luc pulled his hand away from her grasp, and she recognized the all too familiar look in his eyes. She'd betrayed him again. It was the same look he gave her every time they went to Starfleet Medical for his daily therapy, every time a stranger came to the house to talk to him, every time she made him do something he didn't want to. And although she should have been used to it by now, she wasn't.

"Jean-Luc, I'm sorry." But it wasn't good enough. It never was.

He turned his back on her, and walked out of the kitchen. She hesitated a moment, taking the time to calm down, draw her defenses around her, and then she followed him up the stairs to his room. She knew he would be there, sitting by the window. It was his place to go when he was upset.

She leaned in the doorway, and stared over at the window seat where he sat, rocking back and forth, his arms hugging his knees to his chest. "I said I was sorry."

He didn't look at her, just continued to stare out the window at the park across the street. Beverly walked over, sat down opposite him. He'd stopped crying, but his cheeks were still wet, his eyes swollen and red.

"I am sorry," she said again, softly.

He stopped rocking, chewed at his lower lip for a moment, and then looked at her. "Hurt." His voice was husky.

"I know it did."

He drew in a long breath, let it out with a shudder. "You... you yelled."

"You frightened me. I've told you not to use the replicator by yourself."

He nodded as if he remembered her earlier warnings. "Thirsty," he replied by way of explanation.

"When you want something, you can ask me, all right?"

"I want..." His voice trailed off, and a faraway look of confusion crept into his eyes. He rubbed his hand against his forehead and grimaced.

"What do you want, Jean-Luc?" Beverly reached out and touched his arm, was surprised when he didn't pull away.

"I... I..." Tears were beginning to fill his eyes again, and he gasped for breath. Beverly had seen him do this before, struggle to tell her something he couldn't put into words. It was a feeling that welled up inside of him, and it frustrated him when he couldn't explain.

"Jean-Luc." She ran her hand over his arm, soothingly. "You've had a long day. Why don't you take a little rest before supper?" She glanced over at his bed. "You can lie down for a while."

He shook his head. "No." He tried to take deep breaths, stop the tears from forming. "Sit here." He held his hand up to the window, rubbed it over the pane. "Sit here."

Beverly smiled gently at him. "All right. I'll just go get my letters and bring them in here. I'll be right back."

She returned in a few moments, sat down at the desk on the other side of the room. Fifteen minutes later, she realized he was falling asleep, and he didn't resist when she helped him over to the bed. He stretched out on top of it, closed his eyes, and drifted off.

~vVv~

The cup had broken; the tea had burned. And he'd cried. Not because it had hurt, but because she'd yelled at him.

She'd said the word "sorry." He knew what that meant. But it frightened him to hear her yell. Because they had yelled. They had screamed.

He rocked beside the window. It helped to rock.

He tried to tell her, tried to explain about the screaming, but he couldn't. He wanted her to know. But he couldn't tell her. Could never tell her.

And he was tired. So tired.

~vVv~


	25. Chapter 25

He ate, but not a lot, and unless it was something he could pick up with his fingers, Beverly had to feed him. The use of a fork or spoon eluded him, and she was tired of cleaning up the plates of food he would shove off the table in frustration. Needless to say, she never wanted to see another chicken nugget again.

So she tried to vary his menu, keeping in mind his favorite foods. Tonight they had lamb chops, which she cut into small pieces, and fed to him, in between bites of her own supper. What little he ate, he ate slowly. And it was difficult to keep his attention on the task at hand. He would turn away from her and stare across the dining room, his eyes seemingly focused on nothing at all.

"Jean-Luc. Jean-Luc, look at me."

He didn't respond.

Beverly dropped the food laden fork onto his plate, and the noise it made startled him, caused him to jump and look back at her.

Supper had already lasted well over a half hour, and he'd barely eaten five bites. Beverly's plate was empty. "Are you hungry or not?" she asked firmly, her voice tinged with exhaustion.

"Eat." He insisted, opening his mouth. She picked up the fork and fed him. He chewed, swallowed, opened his mouth again. A few bites later, he pushed the plate away.

"You're sure you're finished?"

He nodded. "Cookies?"

Beverly smiled, despite her weariness. She'd never realized just how much Jean-Luc liked chocolate chip cookies. He virtually inhaled them. Once she'd found a handful of them under his pillow. It gave an all new meaning to a midnight snack.

"Yes. You can have some cookies. I'll get them for you."

She went into the kitchen and returned with a small plate of cookies, and a cup of hot tea. She handed them to him. "You can eat these in the living room. But be careful. Don't spill anything."

He got up from the table, holding the cup and plate gingerly in his large hands. He walked slowly into the living room and set them on the coffee table. After turning the holographic viewer on, he sat down and began to eat his dessert, instantly mesmerized by whatever program was on at the moment.

Beverly began to clear the table. A few minutes later she heard the computer console in the living room signal an incoming message.

"I wonder who that is?" she said out loud. But Jean-Luc didn't hear her. When the viewer was on, it was hard to pry him away.

She sat down at the computer, keyed in the acceptance code. "I don't believe it!" she gasped.

Will Riker's face stared back at her. "Hello, Beverly."

"Oh, Will, it is so good to see you."

The image on the screen drew back, revealing another person sitting beside him. "And Deanna." Beverly's smile broadened.

"Hi." Deanna smiled back at her.

"Where are you?"

Deanna laughed. "I think we're somewhere between Earth and Beta Illyria III."

"But close enough to get a message through," Will added.

Beverly nodded. "I'm glad you did."

He leaned forward in his chair, and she recognized Deanna's office. "How is everything?" he asked.

"Well, I don't know about everything, but I'm fine, and Jean-Luc is... Well, he's better... I guess."

"Is he, Beverly?" Deanna's dark eyes studied her, and Beverly could feel the warmth of the woman reach out over the thousands of light years that separated them.

"Yes, in some ways. Better than the last time we talked. He communicates more now. Although it's not his favorite thing to do. He still loves the colored chalk you sent him. We're running out of places to hang his pictures."

"What does Starfleet Medical say about his condition?" Will asked, running his hand nervously over his beard.

Beverly shrugged. "Not much. Physically he's fine. He's, uh... thinner. But if he keeps eating chocolate chip cookies the way he does, he'll gain his weight back and then some."

"Chocolate chip cookies?" Will grinned. "I never knew."

"Neither did I."

"Beverly..." Deanna's voice was soft, inquiring.

Beverly sighed. She knew the counselor's question without her having to ask. "I don't know, Deanna. He... he's like a child," she shook her head, "still like a baby most of the time. It's... it's not easy."

"I know."

"I keep looking over at him, thinking that all of a sudden he's just going to be all right." She swallowed, felt tears sting her eyes. "But he never is."

"He will be," Deanna assured her. "You have to believe that."

"I'm trying."

"We wish we could be there," Will said.

Beverly took a deep breath. "I wish you could be, too. But," she allowed a smile to spread across her face, "Wesley comes by often. He's very good with him, and Jean-Luc responds well."

"That's good." Will nodded. "Well, we... we'd better go." He hesitated a moment. "Beverly, tell him we said hello."

"I will. Goodbye, Deanna, Will."

"Goodbye."

And the communication blinked out. Beverly stared at the dark screen. It was so far away from them now, that world they used to know on the _Enterprise_, their life with those people. She felt as if she'd been gone forever.

She looked past the computer, could see Jean-Luc sitting on the floor in front of the viewer. Had it really only been three months since they'd lain in bed together, discussing their plans for shore leave? She didn't even feel like the same woman anymore. Jean-Luc wasn't the only one who'd changed.

Their life was so different now. And yet, in a way, she'd grown used to it. It was almost as if there were two Jean-Luc Picards: the one she'd known then, and the one she knew now. The captain had not always needed her, but the man sitting on the living room floor could not live without her. And until he was better, she would be there for him. _Always._

"Jean-Luc?" she called, and he turned toward her. "It's time for bed."

He shook his head stubbornly. "No."

She got up and went over to him. "No arguments tonight. Now come on." She turned off the viewer, then reached down and took hold of his shoulder, helped him to his feet. With a gentle nudge, she pushed him toward the stairs, and he went.

~vVv~

She helped him put on his pajamas, then tucked him into bed, pulled the covers up over him. He'd brought the green blanket home with him from the medical complex, and he slept with it every night. He was curled around it now, holding one corner of it against his cheek.

Beverly sat beside him, gazed down into his eyes. "Will and Deanna called tonight," she said softly.

"Yeah," he replied as if he'd known they had.

"How did you know that? Did you hear me talking to them?"

"Yeah."

She smiled. "And I thought you were busy watching the viewer and eating cookies."

"Yeah."

She touched his shoulder, and he let her. "They said to tell you hello."

He nodded, then closed his eyes. Beverly sighed. She wondered if he even remembered who they were.

"Goodnight, Jean-Luc," she whispered, then leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Sleep well."

~vVv~


	26. Chapter 26

"Mom?" Wesley's voice came from the front door.

Beverly leaned over the second floor railing and called down the stairs. "I'll be right there. Jean-Luc is eating breakfast. Will you check on him?"

"Sure."

Wesley walked into the dining room. Jean-Luc wasn't there. But he had been. There was an empty glass of orange juice and a half eaten English muffin on the table.

"Jean-Luc?" It still felt strange calling the captain by his first name, but it was less confusing for him.

Wesley went into the kitchen, and saw that the back door was open. Jean-Luc was sitting on the steps. The younger man went out and sat down beside him. Jean-Luc looked over and smiled.

"Good morning," Wesley said. "I thought you were lost there for a minute."

Jean-Luc shook his head.

Wesley looked around the small backyard, the sun glinting off the trees and shrubs. He took a deep breath of the clean morning air. It was going to be a beautiful day. He glanced over at Jean-Luc. Too bad he had to spend it at Starfleet Medical. Every day. Whether it did him any good or not.

"Wesley?" Beverly's voice came from inside the house.

"Here we are, Mom."

She appeared in the doorway. "Why are you out here?"

Wesley shrugged. "I don't know. This is where I found him."

She stared at her son. "You mean he wasn't in the dining room?"

"No. His breakfast was, but he wasn't." Wesley smiled at his mother's over concern. "Mom, it's no big deal. He just wanted a little fresh air."

"Wes, he could have wandered off." She shook her head, crossed her arms in front of her. "I set him down at the table and told him to eat his breakfast."

"You should know by now that you can't always expect him to do exactly what you tell him. He has a mind of his own."

"I know he has a mind of his own." Beverly's tone was harsh, but then the expression on her face softened. "I'm sorry. I'm just mad at myself. I shouldn't leave him alone. Not even in the house."

Wesley stood up. "Mom, he's all right. He just came outside to sit on the stairs. He didn't go any farther. I mean, I think that makes him pretty trustworthy."

Beverly exhaled a deep breath and smiled. "You know, you might be right." She leaned over and tapped Jean-Luc on the shoulder. He'd been fairly oblivious to their conversation. "Come on, Jean-Luc. It's time to go."

~vVv~

Wesley came almost every morning to accompany them to Starfleet Medical. It was only a few blocks from the Academy, and he didn't have a class until ten. As they walked along the sidewalk together, he noticed Jean-Luc kept tugging at his jacket in much the same way he used to tug at his uniform.

"He doesn't like it," Beverly explained.

"Because it's the wrong color," Wesley said off-handedly.

She stared at him. "What?"

He laughed slightly. "Mom, it's blue. It should be dark red."

Beverly shook her head, suddenly understanding what Wesley was saying. "I never even thought of that."

"What would you do without me?" he grinned.

She put her arm around his shoulders. "I wouldn't survive without you, Wes."

And he heard the sincerity in his mother's voice. This had been hard for her, perhaps even more difficult than those months following his father's death. At least then she'd been allowed to mourn; she'd known Jack was never coming back. _What was worse,_ Wesley wondered, _to lose someone you loved and never see him again? Or to lose him and see him every day?_

He smiled at her. "You're taking good care of him, Mom."

"Thanks."

"Although, in the future, you really should consult me on all fashion decisions."

Jean-Luc chose that exact moment to shrug out of the offending jacket and hand it to Beverly. She threw her head back and laughed. "It's a deal, Wesley."

~vVv~


	27. Chapter 27

The corridors of Starfleet Medical were well-decorated, but it still felt like a hospital: sterile, antiseptic, foreboding. Jean-Luc grabbed hold of Beverly's hand as soon as they walked in, and now stood close beside her as if he were trying to hide between the wall and her body. Tolbert Hadrian joined them.

"Good morning." His voice was a deep, pleasant baritone.

"Morning, Doc," Wesley smiled up at him. He'd known Hadrian all his life. He was almost like an uncle. And Wesley was grateful that he was taking care of the man who'd been a father to him.

The tall, dark-haired doctor looked past Beverly's shoulder. "Good morning, Jean-Luc."

Jean-Luc took a step back, but Beverly, who still held his hand, pulled him forward again. "He's been a bit restless lately," she said. "I'm not sure why."

"How are the nightmares?" Hadrian asked.

"I think they're getting better actually. He hasn't had one in the past couple of days."

The doctor nodded. "That's good." He reached out for his arm. "Jean-Luc, why don't you come with me now."

Jean-Luc shook his head, pressed closer to Beverly. Some days he would go willingly with Hadrian, and on others... "Jean-Luc, it's all right," she assured him. "I'll be nearby. You go with Tolbert."

She pulled her hand away from his grasp, and Hadrian took hold of him. At first, he attempted to get away, but the doctor's grip was firm on his arm. He stopped struggling, walked along with the man. He looked back over his shoulder. Beverly stood in the middle of the corridor, watching him go. When Hadrian and Jean-Luc rounded a corner, and were out of sight, she collapsed into a chair by the wall. Wesley knelt down beside her, placed his hand on her arm.

"I feel like I'm betraying him every time I let Tolbert take him. He looks at me, and..." She rubbed her eyes.

"Mom, maybe they can help him. You've got to let them try."

"I know." She ran her hand over Wesley's hair.

He grinned at her. "Can a son buy his mother some breakfast?"

"I'd like that."

~vVv~

Jean-Luc sat on the edge of the bio-bed, swinging his feet back and forth. He pulled at the hem of the blue medical gown. He didn't like it, but they made him wear it. And he was used to that. Them making him do things.

He looked over at the man on the other side of the room. He wasn't as frightened of him as he used to be. There had been a time when he wouldn't go anywhere without Beverly. Back when he couldn't even remember her name.

The tall man turned and smiled at him. "Well, Jean-Luc, Beverly's feeding you well. You've gained a pound since last week." He stepped over, stood in front of him. Jean-Luc looked up into his eyes. Sometimes, he almost seemed familiar. Like someone he must have known long ago. But then the feeling passed, and he was just the man he came to see every day. Later, the man would take him to another room where there were other people that he didn't know at all, and they would play games. Sometimes, he liked it, and at other times they asked him questions he couldn't answer. And that would make him mad, and he would cry. And after a while, Beverly would come back for him, and they would go home. He wished he could tell her about the questions. Maybe she would know the answers.

He looked away from the man, stared down at his feet, still swinging beneath him. Hadrian suppressed a sigh. It was difficult seeing him like this. And despite the months that had gone by, it never got any easier. Sometimes, he saw a light in Jean-Luc's eyes that reminded him so much of the man he used to be. Just as he'd known Jack Crusher all those years ago, he'd known Jean-Luc as well. They all used to congregate in Jack's living room and play cards, sometimes until the early morning hours, despite Beverly's firm suggestions that they all go home. Those green eyes had stared at him over a handful of cards, bluffed their way past some useless hands, but now there was no bluff in them at all. Jean-Luc Picard was holding nothing.

He laid a hand on his shoulder. "We can tell Beverly that you're in good shape today. She'll be happy to hear that."

Jean-Luc smiled. He recognized the different sounds people's voices made. He knew when they were pleased, and when they were mad. And the man was pleased with him now. That was good.

"Come on, let's get you dressed. We've got some more work to do."

~vVv~


	28. Chapter 28

The man called it work. But it wasn't. Well, sometimes, when it was hard, it was. But most of the time it was fun. Jean-Luc sat at a table with a woman who had brown hair. He didn't know what they called her. She'd told him her name once, but he'd forgotten, just like he'd forgotten the man's name. But that didn't matter. He didn't need to know her name to play the games.

First they gave him blocks. Little ones that were all different colors. And they let him stack them however he wanted for a while. He made towers and then knocked them over. And then the woman showed him a picture and asked him to make the blocks look like the picture. Sometimes, it was easy. But sometimes, he couldn't do it, and he would push all the blocks off the table and refuse to play anymore. He didn't like not being able to do things.

Afterwards, they asked the questions.

But today, it was different.

There were more people there, in the room. The man was there, and the woman. But there was another man, and another woman. And then another woman came in. The woman with brown hair, the one who was always there, started to talk to him.

"Jean-Luc, you know how I ask you questions, and sometimes you answer them, and sometimes you don't?"

He nodded.

"And when you can't answer, that makes you mad, doesn't it?"

He nodded again.

"Today I have something that's going to help." The other man stepped forward and handed the woman something. He could tell what it was, but he didn't know what to call it. The tall man used it sometimes. He would press it against his neck or arm, and it would sting for just a second, but the man said that was all right because it was something to make him feel better. The woman held it up in front of him. "This is going to help you answer some of those questions." She reached over and pressed it to his neck, and he squeezed his eyes closed because sometimes that made it not sting so much. "There." The woman smiled at him. "Now, you just relax."

Someone did something to the lights because the room seemed darker, and the only person he could see was the woman. So he concentrated on her. She was holding something else in her hand. "Jean-Luc, I want you to look at this." It flashed. Almost like one of the lightning bugs Wesley had showed him in the yard one night. Then it flashed again. After a few minutes, all he could think about was that light. And then, she started talking again. "Jean-Luc, you're feeling very relaxed now, and a little bit tired. If you want to close your eyes, you can."

He shook his head. He didn't want to. He wanted to keep looking at the light.

"That's all right. You don't have to close them unless you want to. We'll just talk. Can you remember Beverly?"

He smiled, and nodded.

"I want you to think way back. Do you remember being on the starship with Beverly?"

He knew what a starship was. He used to live on one. No, he used to live on two. They had names. He couldn't remember.

"And then," the woman was still talking, "one day you left the starship."

He nodded again. He remembered that. But why? Why did he remember?

"Where did you go, Jean-Luc?"

And the words were suddenly in his mind, and he said them. "Trastor Nine."

"That's right." The woman sounded pleased, not mad. He liked that.

"You went to Trastor Nine with Commander Riker. You were on your way to a conference."

"Shuttle," he murmured.

"That's right. You took a shuttle." He felt her hand touch his arm. "You're doing a good job, Jean-Luc. What else do you remember?"

"Trees." He could see them in his mind. They were tall and green.

"Good. What else?"

Trees... He remembered the trees. But it... it was growing dark, and cold... and... Shadows, all around him... So, cold... He felt like he couldn't breathe, and he started to get up out of the chair. The woman still held his arm.

"It's all right, Jean-Luc. Tell us about the trees."

"No..." He pulled away from her. He didn't want to remember. It was too cold... too dark...

He felt the sting on his neck again, and he screamed. "No!" Hands grabbed hold of his shoulders, strong hands, big hands. He fought them. "No!" Forcefully, he pushed at the woman in front of him, knocked the little flashing light out of her hand. And then the room brightened, and he could see all their faces. He didn't want to play anymore, didn't want to answer the questions. He tore away from the hands that held him, flung himself toward the door. And before they could stop him, he opened it. He was in the corridor. The same one he'd been in earlier with Beverly. And he screamed her name, wanting her with him. "Beverly!" The hands closed around him again, strong arms holding him. He lost his footing and fell to the floor, began to rock back and forth. "Beverly, Beverly." He was crying now. He wanted her. Where was she?

"Jean-Luc!" The voice came from far away. But it got closer. "Jean-Luc?" And then she was there, kneeling beside him, pulling him away from the man's arms. "Shh," she whispered in his ear, like she did when he had bad dreams. "It's all right. I'm here." She rocked him, gently, humming softly. He gasped, and stopped crying. It was all right. She was here. Everything was all right.

Beverly stared up into Hadrian's face. "What have you done to him?" Her words were calm, but cold, her eyes blazing.

Hadrian knelt beside her. "Beverly, let's get him out of the corridor." He started to help Jean-Luc up, but Beverly held him closer, wouldn't let the man touch him.

"What did you do?"

Hadrian sighed. "We gave him some drugs to help him remember," he answered quietly.

Beverly shook her head in disbelief. "Damn you," she murmured, her voice shaking. "You had no right."

"Beverly, he's my patient."

"And he's my husband," she said sharply.

"I thought it was time," Hadrian countered.

"Well, it wasn't." Beverly stood up carefully, helping Jean-Luc to his feet. He clung to her, frightened of the sound of their voices.

"I'm sorry," Hadrian said. "I honestly thought he was ready for it."

"I'll let you know when he's ready," she replied.

~vVv~


	29. Chapter 29

**Author's Note:** Thanks for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate all the encouraging reviews!

She walked with her arm around him on the way home, whispering softly into his ear, humming, feeling him trembling under her hands. And she was trembling also, with anger, barely bridled rage that still threatened to explode.

Doctors always had their theories. She knew that. She was even guilty of it herself sometimes. But she would never submit a patient to any treatment before she was absolutely positive that the patient was ready for it. And there was very little that Jean-Luc was ready for.

_Except maybe a nap,_ she thought, as he yawned and laid his head on her shoulder. She held him closer. When would he be ready? Next month? Next year? Ever? Theoretically, drug induced hypnosis would be the appropriate treatment. But not yet.

"When?" Beverly murmured, not realizing she'd spoken aloud.

Jean-Luc looked up at her, his eyes puzzled and confused, traces of tears on his cheeks.

She managed a smile. "When we get home, you can rest. Take a little nap, all right?"

He nodded tiredly, returning his head to her shoulder.

~vVv~

He was literally asleep before his head hit the pillow. Beverly hadn't even finished putting his pajamas on him when his eyes closed, and he sagged against her. She laid him gently back on the bed, buttoned his shirt, then drew the covers over him. She sat beside him for a while, just watching him, thinking of all the other times she'd treated him for one illness or another: the flu, a virus. Or an injury: strained muscles from over exerting himself on the racquet ball court, a broken arm the time his holodeck Arabian unceremoniously deposited him on the other side of a fence. If only now it were something so simple, for even at those times he'd seemed invincible. Nothing had prepared her for the Borg. Or for this.

She leaned over, and softly kissed him on the forehead. He smiled in his sleep.

~vVv~

Time alone was rare, and something to be treasured when she wasn't so tired. Too tired to read, or write letters. Even too tired to turn on the viewer. She slipped off her shoes, and lay back on the living room couch, closed her eyes... And then opened them when the doorbell suddenly rang.

_Who in the world_, she thought as she pulled herself to her feet. It couldn't be Wesley. He had classes all afternoon. And besides, he'd mentioned something about a date later on in the evening.

Pushing the hair out of her eyes, she walked into the entry hall, opened the door. Robert Picard stood on the front porch, and all she could do was blink at him in surprise. Finally, she found her voice. "Robert!"

"May I come in?"

"Yes. Yes, of course." She held the door open, and he stepped inside. "This is such a pleasant surprise. Please, have a seat, make yourself comfortable." She waved her hand toward the sofa in the living room, but Robert just stood there, not moving.

"I've come to see Jean-Luc."

"He's sleeping right now."

The man nodded and crossed over to the sofa. He sat down. Beverly took a seat in a chair across from him.

"I..." Robert cleared his throat, "I appreciate the communication tapes you've sent, keeping me and my family informed of Jean-Luc's condition. I know you said that he wouldn't know any of us, but... Well, he may not know me, but I'll know him." He was silent for a moment. "I hope it's all right that I came. I don't want to jeopardize any... treatment."

"No... I mean, yes, it's all right that you came. I don't think you'll jeopardize anything. But I still don't think he'll know who you are. And he'll probably be frightened of you at first."

"Well, that'll seem like old times then. My little brother was always a bit frightened of me." He smiled. "Although he's never admitted it." He hesitated. "What... what is the prognosis for him?"

Beverly sighed. "We're not sure. As I've told you in my tapes, he's suffering from a form of trauma induced amnesia. He's experienced something that he hasn't been able to deal with mentally, and this has caused him to regress deeply. We're hoping that in time he'll feel safe enough to let some of the memories he's buried surface. And until then, we're working with him. He goes to therapy every day. We're trying to get him to talk more. That'll help him put words to some of the feelings he's experiencing right now."

There was a sound from the entry hall, footsteps on the stairs. Seconds later, Jean-Luc appeared in the doorway, clad in his pajamas, his eyes puffy with sleep. He rubbed at them and yawned, looked fearfully at the man on the sofa.

Beverly got to her feet and went over to him. She touched his arm and smiled. "Hey there. Did you sleep well?"

The usual response to this question was a nod of his head and the single word "hungry." He was always half-starved after his nap. But he was quiet now, his eyes still fixed on Robert. Beverly searched their green depths for a hint of recognition, but wasn't sure if she could find any. She seemed to see only the fear and the familiar accusation. After all, she was responsible for this man, this stranger, sitting in their once secure living room.

She suppressed a sigh. "It's all right, Jean-Luc. Robert's a friend." She wasn't sure if he would understand the word "brother." And she could tell he didn't know the name. But that didn't surprise her. It had taken him days to recognize his own name. She looked back over her shoulder. "I'll just go help him change his clothes. We'll be right back."

"Could I..." Robert swallowed nervously, "could I come with you?"

"No, I don't..." she started to refuse, not wanting to frighten Jean-Luc more.

"Please?"

And looking at this man, staring into eyes that were so much like Jean-Luc's, she understood. He needed to be near him now, to reestablish the bond between them, to be the elder brother looking out for the younger one. If they were to know each other again, they had to start now.

Beverly took a deep breath. "All right."

Robert stood and walked over to them. Jean-Luc drew closer to her, and she strengthened her grasp on his arm.

"Hello, Jean-Luc." The man's voice was low, gruff, and yet there was a softness there, a gentleness, the tone one might use when talking to a child. "I'm Robert."

They stared at each other for a long moment, and then, to Beverly's surprise, Jean-Luc smiled.

~vVv~


	30. Chapter 30

He handed the picture to the man, but then took a step back.

"It's the _Enterprise_," Beverly said, reaching over and buttoning the top two buttons of Jean-Luc's shirt.

Robert smiled. "He always liked to draw and paint." He looked over at his brother. "It's very good, Jean-Luc. It reminds me of the pictures you drew when you were..." he hesitated, "when you were younger."

Jean-Luc lowered his head, stared down at the floor.

"I think he likes you," Beverly said softly. "He doesn't give his pictures to many people." She ran a brush over the sides of Jean-Luc's head, smoothing his hair down behind his ears.

"Does he talk much?" Robert asked, still staring at the picture in his hands.

"Not a lot, but we're working on it." She put her arm around Jean-Luc's shoulders. "Aren't we, Jean-Luc?"

He nodded. "Hungry," he whispered.

Beverly laughed. "I was waiting to hear that word." She smiled over at Robert. "He's always hungry."

"That's a good sign. I remember our mother used to say that a healthy appetite made for a healthy person."

Jean-Luc looked up. "Maman," he breathed.

Beverly gasped, and Robert leaned closer to him. "Jean-Luc, do you remember Maman?" he asked, reaching out and touching his hands.

Jean-Luc nodded, then smiled. "Maman... cooked."

Robert laughed. "Yes, she did. And you loved to eat."

"Beverly... cooks."

She hugged him. "I'm sure it's not as good as your Maman's cooking. But I try."

Jean-Luc stared over at Robert. "You hungry?"

"Yes, Jean-Luc, I'm hungry. Let's go eat."

~vVv~

He never took his eyes off Robert all through supper, stared at him with a mixture of wonder and fear. And perhaps, Beverly thought, a bit of recognition. Or so she hoped. He seemed so intrigued with the man that he forgot he was hungry.

She picked up his sandwich. "Eat, Jean-Luc."

He took a bite of it as she held it, making no move to hold it himself.

"No. You take it." She put it in his hand.

He took another bite, chewed slowly.

"I think he remembers you," she said to Robert.

"Really?"

She nodded. "Maybe. It's hard to tell. You're definitely more interesting than that sandwich."

Robert looked over at him. "He does talk sometimes?"

"Sometimes." She noted how uncomfortable the older man seemed. "I know it's difficult," she said quietly, "seeing him like this. I'm sorry."

Robert shook his head. "No. I wanted to come." He smiled faintly. "It's just that, I think this is the longest we've been together without arguing."

She laughed. "Give him time. I've found that he's just as stubborn as always."

"Well, not everything's changed about him then."

"No, not everything," Beverly agreed, running her hand along Jean-Luc's cheek. "He's in there somewhere. We just have to wait and be patient."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

She watched Jean-Luc smiling at the man. "I think your just being here will help a lot. And maybe you can tell him some stories about France, and your family. He'd enjoy that. He may not talk much, but he seems to listen and understand."

Jean-Luc pushed his plate toward Beverly. It was empty. "More?" he asked.

"And he eats," Robert said with a laugh.

"Constantly." Beverly rolled her eyes, amazed that he'd finished the sandwich so quickly.

~vVv~

She stood in the open doorway, listening to the sound of Robert's voice in the semi-darkness of Jean-Luc's room. In the pale light cast from the hall, she could see the man's outline perched on the edge of the bed. She was surprised, but pleased, that Jean-Luc would allow him to sit so close.

At first, the stories Robert told had been halting, as if he hadn't been able to find the memories or the words, but now they seemed to tumble out of him from a deep well within his soul, and he told them with laughter and fond remembrance. Beverly found herself closing her eyes, seeing the images in her mind: Jean-Luc and Robert as children, running through the woods, chasing imaginary dragons; working alongside their father in the vineyards; helping their mother in the garden. Good memories of simpler times, and Robert related them with the grace of a master storyteller, the resonance in his tone so much like Jean-Luc's that Beverly felt a lump rise in her throat and tears burn her eyes. She missed the sound of Jean-Luc's voice, was happy when he spoke a few words, but longed to hear him say more.

Robert stopped talking, and she looked over at him, saw that he was standing, leaning over his brother, pulling the covers up around his shoulders.

"Is he asleep?" she whispered.

Robert nodded, walking over to her. "Fast asleep."

They stepped out into the hall. Robert leaned against the wall and smiled. "He listened."

"I thought he would." She placed a hand on his arm. "You gave him something worth listening to."

Robert shook his head. "They were just stories... memories. Things that happened long ago."

"But they were your memories... his memories. If we can help him remember those, then maybe, soon, he'll be able to remember others."

Robert looked at her, his eyes worried. "But those memories might not be so pleasant, Beverly." He sighed. "Jean-Luc went through hell last year. What those Borg did to him..." His jaw shook. "It angered me. Seeing him having to fight those demons alone, deal with the nightmares. Knowing what they'd done to him. You know how it is... beating up the younger brother should be an exclusive right of the elder one." He drew in a deep breath. "We hurt each other. Perhaps all brothers do to some extent. I know I've said things, done things, that I wish I hadn't. And there were times when I felt that Jean-Luc needed to be reminded that he was human like the rest of us. But, I..." He swallowed, brushed his hand across his eyes. "I never..."

Crushed squeezed his arm. "He's strong, Robert. For all we know whatever he's been through might have killed a lesser man. And from what he's told me in the past about his big brother, I think he's drawn a lot of his strength from you." She laughed softly, to lighten the moment. "Tell me, are all Picard men so stubborn?"

He grinned. "Yes, but not as much as the Picard women."

Beverly nodded. "I met your mother once. In Paris. My husband Jack and I were visiting and Jean-Luc took us all out to dinner. She was quite a lady."

"Yes, she was. But set in her ways."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Like her sons?"

"Like her sons."

Beverly glanced back into Jean-Luc's room. "He's going to make it, Robert. He's got too much of your family in him not to."

~vVv~


	31. Chapter 31

The voices seemed to come from nowhere, floating into Beverly's room, filling the dark corners. Low voices, familiar. And she dreamed she was on the _Enterprise _sitting around the conference table in the observation lounge, listening first to Data, and then Worf, and Will, and Geordi. And Jean-Luc. His voice was steady, strong, authoritative. It was a good dream, but the other voices in her room were pulling her away from it, and she struggled to hold on for a while longer, not wanting to let go of her memory of the captain.

The voices were louder now, and Beverly opened her eyes, suddenly awake, the remnants of her dream slipping from the edges of her subconscious mind. She looked around. There was no one in her room, and yet she had the strangest feeling that there was, for there were shadows in the corners where the voices had been.

Now the voices were coming from down the hall, and at the same time from outside her window. Quickly, she got up, grabbed her robe from the foot of her bed, and pulled it on as she hurried out of her room.

There was a light shining from downstairs, and although it barely illuminated the hallway she could see that Jean-Luc's door was ajar. And she could hear that the voices were coming from inside.

Quietly, she went to the door, opened it further. She felt cold air and her eyes went immediately to the window. It was open, and Robert was sitting on the ledge, half in, half out. She glanced at Jean-Luc's bed. It was empty.

"Robert!" she whispered loudly, though the greater part of her wanted to scream.

"It's all right, Beverly," he said calmly without looking back at her. His gaze was focused outside on the roof. "Jean-Luc and I are talking."

Slowly, Beverly walked toward the window. "Is he out there?" she breathed knowing the answer already.

"Yes, he is," Robert replied, his voice still calm and even. "And I was just about to join him."

"What?"

"I know what this is about, why he's out there." His attention returned to the roof. "Jean-Luc, I'm coming out, all right? Is there a place for me, too?"

Beverly couldn't hear the response, but Robert did. "That's good." And then he disappeared from the window sill, the curtains ruffling behind him.

Beverly took his place at the window and looked out. The house was old, modeled after the ancient Victorian row houses of the nineteenth century. The tiled roof was steep in places, yet almost flat around the gabled windows. Jean-Luc was sitting a few feet away, and now his brother was beside him.

"We're all right, Beverly," Robert assured, tentatively draping an arm around Jean-Luc's shoulders. The younger man flinched, and then relaxed, leaned his head back, stared up at sky above them.

"Stars," he whispered breathlessly, his voice full of wonder.

"Lots of stars," Robert agreed. "There's Sirius and Adhara. And what's that one over there?"

"Arcturus," Jean-Luc answered with a contented smile.

"That's right." Robert rubbed his hand along his brother's neck. "Too many to count tonight, aren't there?"

"Too many," he nodded, lowering his gaze, staring out across the city toward the bay. In the distance, the lights of Starfleet Headquarters could be seen, shuttlecraft winking in the dark haze. "Starships," he announced.

"Those are shuttles, Jean-Luc. Remember? They're a lot smaller."

He shook his head. "Shuttles," he repeated.

"That's right."

"Robert?" Beverly's voice was beginning to sound strained. "Don't you think you should come inside?" She was relieved that Robert was with him now, actually had an arm around him, but she was still scared to death.

The man shrugged slightly, gave Jean-Luc a gentle pat on the back. "It's time to go back in, Jean-Luc. Beverly is missing us."

For the first time, Jean-Luc looked over at the open window, and he smiled. "Stars, Beverly," he said, "Everywhere."

"I see them, Jean-Luc, but it's cold out here. Let Robert bring you inside. I'll fix us all some tea."

"All right," he agreed and slowly began to crawl toward the window, Robert's hand fastened securely around his arm.

~vVv~


	32. Chapter 32

Jean-Luc sat at the end of the kitchen table, one hand closed around a cup of tea, the other gripping a piece of chalk. He was drawing while Robert and Beverly sat at the opposite end talking.

The doctor took a long sip of tea, willed the warm liquid to steady her nerves. "You said you knew what this was about, why he was out there. Why?"

"It's something we used to do when we were little."

She looked at him, unbelieving. "You went crawling around on top of the roof in the middle of the night?"

Robert smiled. "Yes, we did. Remember, we were young then. In fact, Jean-Luc was only five the first time he mastered roof climbing."

Beverly sighed heavily, and stared down at Jean-Luc, amazed that he'd reached adulthood. "Did your parents know that you did this?"

"I don't think so. I'm sure they would have been rather upset had they known."

"I'm sure they would have been." Beverly shook her head. "Why?" she inquired.

"Why did we do it?"

She nodded.

"Well, you see, there was a perfectly good reason." Robert glanced down at his brother. "It was the closest he could get."

She looked at him, confused. "What?"

"To the stars, Beverly. It was the closest he could get. He always wanted to be out there... always."

"So, you taught him how to climb on the roof?" she asked incredulously.

"No, actually he taught me. I found him outside his window one night."

"And how old were you?"

Robert thought a moment, mentally subtracting the years. "Eleven," he decided.

"Old enough to know better," Beverly scolded. "That was so dangerous Robert."

His eyes widened. "I tied a rope around him."

"A rope?"

"In case he fell. I tied one end to Jean-Luc and the other to the window."

"I don't think that would have saved him," she declared.

He sighed. "Probably not, but it made me feel better. Sort of like tying him to the earth to keep him safe." He stared at Jean-Luc. "In my mind, I kept that rope tied to him for a long time. Even after he went off to the Academy."

Beverly smiled at his words, shook her head. "Little glass boxes."

Robert squinted at her.

"Something a friend of mine told me," she explained. "If we keep the ones we love in little glass boxes it may protect them, but it doesn't make for much of a life."

"Neither does tying a rope to someone who's destined to become a starship captain by the time he's thirty."

"But we try, don't we? I've tied a few ropes myself... to Jack and Wesley, and..."

"And my brother?" Robert gazed at her knowingly.

She stared at the table, and then down at Jean-Luc. He raised his eyes from the drawing paper and smiled at her. She took a deep breath. "Yes," she answered, "I love him very much."

"I'm glad he finally married you. You're just what he needed."

She looked back at Robert. "I think I needed him even more."

"Well, it looks like what he needs now is a pillow," Robert said, and Beverly followed his gaze. Jean-Luc's head was resting on the table, his arm across the drawing paper, the chalk still in his hand.

"I guess climbing on the roof in the middle of the night take its toll," she murmured quietly.

"I suppose so." Robert stood up and went to his brother. "When he was little, he used to fall asleep on the living room floor, and I'd take him to bed. It's been a long time, but I think I still can." Carefully, he put one arm around Jean-Luc's back, and the other under his knees, then picked him up. Jean-Luc groaned, shifted in his arms, settled his head against Robert's shoulder.

"Is he too heavy?" Beverly asked.

Robert shook his head. "No, I've got him." He headed toward the stairs. Beverly took the picture he'd been drawing and followed.

Several minutes later, Jean-Luc stirred again as his brother lowered him into bed. "Shh," Robert whispered, rubbing his hand over Jean-Luc's forehead. Then he pulled the covers around him.

While Robert went to the window to lock it securely, Beverly leaned over and kissed Jean-Luc softly on the cheek. Then she and Robert walked out into the hall, closing the door halfway behind them.

"What did he draw?" Robert inquired, looking down at the picture in her hands.

She held it out in front of her. Most of the paper was filled with a dark blue sky sprinkled with stars.

Robert sighed. "Home," he said.

She nodded. "Yes. I guess the stars are his home."

"No. Not the stars." Robert pointed to the lower portion of the picture. "You see this. I think that's the roof of our house in La Barre. Because this is the tree that still stands outside Jean-Luc's bedroom window."

Beverly stared at the green and brown limbs outlined against the star-filled sky. Then she looked up at Robert and smiled. "He remembers," she whispered.

"Yes, I think he does."

~vVv~


	33. Chapter 33

It wasn't voices outside her window that awakened her the next morning, but the sun shining through it. She rolled over and felt its rays lighting upon her cheeks. And then, the bed moved, shook as someone crawled onto it. She knew who it was, and she smiled. Without opening her eyes, she lifted the covers and allowed him to snuggle in beside her. His body curled around her back, his head settling warm and heavy on her shoulder. This was new to their routine, something he'd only been doing in the last week. In the past, if he woke before she did, he would just lay there staring at the ceiling until she came and got him out of bed and helped him get dressed.

She sighed and moved closer to him, felt the weight and warmth of his green blanket as he pulled it over the both of them. She liked this morning routine much better. For just a few minutes out of the day, she allowed herself to imagine that nothing was wrong, that their life was as it had been. That they were on the _Enterprise_, in their quarters, savoring the last few moments of sleep before the chronometer officially woke them.

Although Jean-Luc knew her name, she was simply the person who took care of him, no more, no less. But perhaps, sub-consciously, his body recognized hers, the lines and contours – like a ship lost at sea, searching for a safe, familiar harbor. She felt him press against her, and she pressed back, longing for him, missing him terribly – his touch, the way he ran his hands over her body; all that was gone now. The warmth they shared in those early morning minutes was painfully innocent.

After a while, Jean-Luc broke the silence. "Breakfast," he murmured into her ear.

She opened her eyes, twisted around, looked over her shoulder. His familiar green eyes stared back at her. "Are you hungry?" she asked, knowing the answer already.

"Robert… breakfast," he said, propping himself up on one elbow.

Beverly turned over and sat up quickly. "Jean-Luc, you're dressed."

The pajamas he'd had on last night were gone, replaced by a pair of blue jeans and a grey sweatshirt.

He looked down uncertainly at his clothes, then back up at her. "Robert," he said softly.

She nodded. "I see. So, Robert helped you get dressed, and I suspect he's downstairs right now making breakfast."

"Robert… cooks." The uncertain look in his eyes was immediately replaced by a definite look of pride.

"Does he?" Beverly smiled. "Well, then, you'd better get down there and start eating."

He started to get out of the bed, but hesitated, looked back at her.

"Go on, Jean-Luc. It's all right." She got out of bed as well, running her fingers through her hair. "I'm going to get dressed myself, and then I'll meet you down there."

Jean-Luc smiled and climbed off the bed, dragging his blanket behind him. At the door, he looked back over his shoulder.

Beverly was running a brush through her hair. "It's all right," she assured him again.

"Beverly," he whispered, and then disappeared into the hall and down the stairs.

~vVv~

The sweet aroma of home-made blueberry pancakes filled the kitchen when Beverly walked in ten minutes later. Jean-Luc sat at the table, eating small cut-up pieces with his fingers. Robert stood at the stove, expertly flipping the thin golden cakes.

The older man looked over at her. "How many can you eat?"

She smiled. "I should only eat one, but they smell so good I'd better have two."

"Three it is then," he replied.

Beverly shook her head and sat down beside Jean-Luc. He grinned up at her, licking syrup from his fingers. "They must be good," she commented.

"They must be," Robert agreed. "That's his fourth one."

"Four?!"

"Well, he kept on eating them, so I kept on making them."

"Good," Jean-Luc mumbled around his fingers.

Beverly took his other hand and put a fork in it. "Try using this."

He stared at the utensil and frowned slightly.

Robert noticed "I'm sorry. I didn't think to make him use his fork."

"That's all right," Beverly said. "He doesn't like to. But we work on it occasionally. Don't we, Jean-Luc?"

Jean-Luc held the fork awkwardly, but tried to stab a piece of syrup-drenched pancake. After a few attempts, he got a piece and raised it to his mouth. He closed his lips around it and chewed triumphantly.

"Of course, he's quite proud of himself when he accomplishes a bite."

"I can see," Robert agreed, coming over to the table and setting a plate of pancakes in front of Beverly.

"Thank you," she said, smiling at the man.

Robert retrieved a plate for himself and sat down opposite her "I hope you don't mind that I helped him get dressed. He was awake when I looked in on him this morning."

"No, I appreciate it. I'm pleased that he's so comfortable with you. His... world needs some other people in it - someone besides me and Wesley and the medical center staff." She looked over at Jean-Luc. He was still tackling the pancake with his fork. "I'm afraid he's very isolated."

Robert poured himself a cup of coffee and took a sip, then set his cup down on the table. "I was thinking the same thing, Beverly. I know that his therapy at the medical center is important, but…"

"What?" Beverly prompted.

The man inhaled a deep breath. "He drew the picture of our house in La Barre last night. A part of his mind does remember that he belonged there once. Perhaps... Maybe you and he could come home with me. He has a family there. I know Marie and Rene would love to see you both."

Beverly stared down at the table, listening to Robert's words. The thought of going to La Barre had passed through her mind. The fact that Jean-Luc had drawn the picture of his old home had encouraged her. Portions of his memory were intact, and it would probably be beneficial to take him back to France in hopes that the place would help bring more memories to the surface. He'd felt safe there as a boy, and after the frightening incident at Starfleet Medical the day before, a safe place for him sounded inviting. Maybe he needed a break from the daily therapy. And maybe she needed a break as well.

"Yes," she murmured, not even realizing that she'd spoken aloud. She looked up from her plate of pancakes, instinctively reached over and touched Jean-Luc's arm. "Yes," she said again, louder this time.

Robert smiled. "Good. Then it's settled."

Jean-Luc, seeing the man's smile, smiled back at him. Raising his fingers to his mouth, he licked syrup off them again. "Good," he mimicked.

And Beverly laughed softly, agreed with them both. "Good."

~vVv~


	34. Chapter 34

"Beverly, I don't think it's a good idea."

Beverly's blue eyes hardened and she glared intensely at the man sitting across the desk from her. "I'm not here to ask your permission, Tolbert. I don't have to do that. Remember? Jean-Luc is my husband, and he can go wherever I want to take him."

"Jean-Luc is also a Starfleet officer, and I'm still his doctor." Hadrian's voice rose a notch, and then he sighed. "Beverly, I don't want to argue with you about this. I'm just telling you what I think is best for him."

"After what he went through yesterday, I can't see how a visit to his childhood home could be any more harmful," Beverly persisted.

"It probably wouldn't be," Hadrian admitted. "Where is Jean-Luc now? Therapy?"

"No, he's in the hallway with his brother."

"He likes him?"

Beverly nodded. "Very much. There's… a connection between them."

"Do you think he remembers him?"

"I'm not sure. He may not remember anything about France, or his home, but I think it's worth a try."

Hadrian leaned back in his desk chair and heaved an exhausted sigh. "So, you want to take my patient halfway around the world, and you want my approval?"

"No. Just your understanding."

He pushed himself to his feet. "You've always had that, Beverly." He took a step toward his office door. "Now, can I examine him one last time before you go?"

Beverly smiled at the man as she got up from her chair. Stepping closer, she wrapped her arms around him. Even if they didn't always see eye to eye, she knew how much he truly cared about Jean-Luc. "I insist that you do."

~vVv~

By evening, the arrangements had been made. Robert had contacted Marie, and she would be expecting them the next day. They would transport from the medical center up to Space Station McKinley and then back down to the Picard home in La Barre. There were definitely some advantages to being in Starfleet, Beverly thought as she packed their bags. It would be so much quicker and simpler not to have to take a shuttle.

She could hear Robert in the next room reading to Jean-Luc. They'd told him at supper that they would be leaving in the morning. She wasn't sure if he'd understood. He'd merely nodded and continued drinking his milk.

Closing her suitcase, Beverly walked next door to his room. He was in bed, Robert sitting beside him, a large picture book spread open in front of them

"Ah, Beverly," Robert looked up at her, "the replicator had this book on file."

Beverly went over to the bed, sat down on the edge of it. She tilted the cover of the book toward her, read the title - _A Portrait of France_. She smiled. "Just showing him the previews, huh?"

Robert returned her smile. "Something like that. I think he likes the pictures."

Beverly reached out and placed a hand on Jean-Luc's blanket-covered knee. "I think he likes the person who's showing him those pictures, too."

"Sometimes it's good that he doesn't really remember who I am," Robert laughed softly, and turned a page.

Jean-Luc's eyes widened and pointed to the book, his finger rubbing over the pages.

"Then again, maybe he does remember more than we think," the older man amended.

Beverly leaned closer, and peered over the top of the book. "Unless I'm mistaken, I believe that's a picture of a vineyard," she smiled.

"Grapes," Jean-Luc said simply.

"That's right, Jean-Luc," Robert agreed.

"Your grapes," he insisted, staring up into his brother's eyes.

Robert wrapped his arm around Picard's shoulders, pulled him close. "Our grapes."

Beverly blinked at the warm tears that filled her eyes, and she sighed. She'd made the right decision. Jean-Luc needed to go to France. It had been too long since he'd last checked on his grapes.

~vVv~


	35. Chapter 35

**Author's Note:** Thanks for reading and reviewing! :)

Deciding to go to France and getting there were two entirely different matters. The decision was relatively simple. The actual getting there, although it didn't seem a terribly difficult task, was almost impossible.

Jean-Luc held back as they stepped onto the transporter pad. The few times he'd been transported before had not been pleasant. He'd reacted badly to the sensation, but it had been several months since the last time, and Beverly had hoped that the fears surrounding the procedure had left him. Apparently, she was wrong.

"Jean-Luc, it's all right. I'm with you."

He squeezed her hand tighter, and whimpered softly.

Hadrian stood next to the controls. "Beverly, I can give him something to help him relax."

She shook her head. "No, I'll just hold on to him." She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and pulled him onto the pad next to her.

Robert moved closer to him as well, placed a large, reassuring hand on Jean-Luc's arm. "I'm here, too, Jean-Luc. You're going to be just fine."

Despite their closeness, Jean-Luc began to cry.

Beverly looked down at Hadrian. "If we're going, we'd better go now."

Hadrian spoke to the transporter technician, and then looked back up at the trio. "Good luck, Beverly. Keep in touch."

She smiled. "I will. Thanks, Tolbert."

"Energize," Hadrian instructed.

They solidified a few moments later in the transporter room on Space Station McKinley. Jean-Luc's crying had intensified, and, although Beverly held him securely in her arms, nothing seemed to help him. The transporter chief could barely hear Robert's voice as the elder Picard confirmed their transfer coordinates. But within seconds, the effect surrounded them again. And then, suddenly, they were standing in the front courtyard of the Picard family home, warm sunlight filtering down around them.

Jean-Luc was holding tightly to Beverly, his face buried against her chest, his shoulders still shaking with sobs. He didn't even realize that they were no longer on the transporter pad until Robert pried him loose from Beverly's embrace.

"We're here, Jean-Luc," he whispered into his brother's ear. "Look around."

Jean-Luc raised his head a fraction, his eyes blinking from the bright light, his hands reaching out blindly for Beverly. She caught hold of him, squeezed his fingers.

"It's all right," she assured him.

Behind them, the front door of the house opened, and Marie Picard came out. She was followed by a thin, brown-haired teenager.

"Hello," she smiled. "Welcome."

Robert leaned close and kissed him wife. "It's good to be here, Marie." He straightened. "I'd like you to meet Doctor Beverly Crusher – our new sister-in-law." And he smiled.

Marie reached out and took Beverly into a warm embrace. "It's so good to finally meet you," she exclaimed.

"It's nice to meet you; I've heard so many wonderful things about you and your family - and your beautiful home."

Marie smiled and pulled away. "And I've heard some wonderful things about you." She looked past Beverly's shoulder at Jean-Luc. He was standing silently, staring down at the cobblestoned courtyard. "Hello, Jean-Luc," she said softly. "We're glad you're here." He didn't respond. Marie reached back and placed a hand on Rene's shoulder, pulled him forward. "This is our son, Rene."

Beverly nodded. "It's nice to meet you, Rene."

"It's a pleasure to meet you." He inclined his head in greeting, but then stared past her at Jean-Luc. "Hello, Uncle Jean-Luc," he ventured.

At the sound of the boy's voice, Jean-Luc looked up curiously. And he smiled, even though tears still marked his cheeks. "Hello, Uncle," he murmured.

"Well, I'll be..." Robert whispered.

Beverly frowned. "But, I don't understand. Uncle?"

Marie touched her on the arm. "Don't worry. He's not confused. Not in the least. It's... an inside joke." Marie's smile broadened. "And you just happen to be on the outside right now."

~vVv~

Beverly was amazed at how easily Marie and Rene accepted Jean-Luc. Without question, they welcomed them both into their home, and Beverly noted that Rene immediately took on a big brother role with his uncle, showing him around the house, helping him get settled into his old room. She was even more amazed by the fact that Jean-Luc went with him freely, following him around with a sense of wonder and trust.

"Rene is wonderful with him, Marie," Beverly commented, looking across the dining room table at her sister-in-law.

They were both enjoying a welcome cup of tea.

"We've had many long talks about Jean-Luc, and what to expect, how to treat him. Rene is very sensitive for a thirteen-year old boy. I like to think that has something to do with his upbringing, but I suppose I'm a bit biased."

Beverly shook her head. "I don't think so at all. As a mother myself, I tend believe that our children receive all their good habits from their parents," she laughed softly. "But still, I am impressed. My son, Wesley, is nineteen, and it took him several days to become comfortable around Jean-Luc."

"But, don't forget that Wesley has always known Jean-Luc as the captain of the _Enterprise_," Marie added. "And I'm sure that made accepting the way he is now all the more difficult."

Beverly nodded in understanding. "For both of us."

Marie reached over and placed a hand on Beverly's arm. "Beverly, I know we've just met, but please feel free to talk to me about anything. From the letters Jean-Luc wrote to us before your marriage, I feel like I've known you for years."

"The same for me. He's told me so much about you and your family and your home here. I've always sensed a longing within him to have what you and Robert have." Beverly stopped talking and stared across the room, her eyes unfocused.

Marie squeezed her arm. "He's going to get better, Beverly. I know it's difficult to think that he will, especially after being with him day in and day out for the past few months. But, I like to think that La Barre has special... healing qualities. Being here will be good for him. I'm sure of it."

"No!" The cry broke the stillness, echoing from upstairs.

Beverly and Marie were on their feet and up the stairs instantly. They rushed into Jean-Luc's room. Rene stood bewildered next to the bed, where an open suitcase lay. Jean-Luc was huddled on the floor, his green blanket wrapped around him. He was crying and rocking, and rubbing a corner of his blanket soothingly against his cheek.

Marie went to her son and put an arm around his shoulders. "Rene, it's all right."

The boy shook his head, still startled by the situation. But he took a deep breath and explained. "I was just helping him unpack. We were talking about starships. He seemed to be listening to me."

"And then you took out his blanket," Beverly said, kneeling on the floor next to Jean-Luc, her hand rubbing his back. The crying had stopped, replaced by soft snuffling sounds.

"I was just going to put it on the bed. I didn't know he would react like that."

"It's all right, Rene." Beverly smiled over at him. "I should have warned you. Jean-Luc is very protective of his blanket."

Rene shrugged. "Sort of like I used to be about my teddy bear."

Marie hugged her son closer, proud of how he was handling the situation with his uncle. "Oh, no, Rene," she sighed, "you were much worse about your bear. No one was allowed to touch him but you. "

Rene's face suddenly brightened. "Hey, I've still got him on my shelf. Maybe Uncle Jean-Luc would like him."

The boy slipped out of the room and appeared a few moments later carrying an old brown bear. He slowly approached Beverly and Jean-Luc, then bent down onto his knees.

Beverly nodded her approval and touched Jean-Luc's chin, raised his face. "Jean-Luc, Rene has something for you."

Rene smiled shyly at Jean-Luc. "I'm sorry about your blanket. I didn't know how important it was to you." He held out the bear. "I thought you might like to have this. His name is Alexander."

Jean-Luc looked up nervously, tears glistening in his eyes. He still clutched his blanket tightly around him, but curiously reached out a hand and touched the teddy bear. "Zander," he whispered.

Rene looked up at his mother. "That's what I used to call him," he said.

Marie nodded. "I remember."

Rene pushed the bear into Jean-Luc's arms. "You can have him. It's all right."

Jean-Luc smiled and took the bear, wrapped a corner of his blanket around him.

Beverly issued a sigh of relief, grateful for Rene's generosity. "What do you say, Jean-Luc?"

Jean-Luc thought for a moment, and then answered. "Thank... you," he mumbled, rubbing tiredly at his eyes.

"Yes, Rene," Beverly said, "thank you. I think you're going to be a very good friend for him right row."

"So do I," Marie agreed, coming over and touching Rene's shoulder. "Why don't we go downstairs and let Jean-Luc take a rest?"

Rene stood up. "I'll be back later," he promised.

Jean-Luc nodded. "Later."

After Marie and Rene left the room, Beverly helped Jean-Luc to his feet and led him over to the bed. She set him down on the edge of it and bent down to remove his shoes. "I think you've had a long day, Jean-Luc. Why don't you take a nap before supper?" she suggested.

He hugged the bear to his chest. "Zander," he murmured.

Beverly pulled back the covers. "Yes, Zander can take a nap, too." She helped him crawl into bed; and arranged his blanket over him and the teddy bear. "Now, you close your eyes."

He stared up at her. "Stay?"

"I'll stay. Close your eyes," she repeated.

With a contented sigh, Jean-Luc closed his eyes. Softly, Beverly began to hum an old lullaby. Within minutes, he was asleep. Realizing just how tired she was, Beverly lay down on the bed next to him and fell asleep as well.

~vVv~


	36. Chapter 36

Several hours later, Beverly woke to find the bed beside her empty. Well, not completely empty. The round button eyes of Alexander the Bear stared back at her.

"We've been deserted, Zander," she sighed softly, pushing stray strands of hair off her face.

She stretched and stared up at the ceiling, surprised to find that she wasn't terribly worried about where Jean-Luc was at that moment. It was a nice feeling to know that there were others in the house who would help to keep an eye on him. She rolled over and pulled the warm green blanket closer around her shoulders. She inhaled deeply and smiled. The blanket smelled like Jean-Luc, like his dressing gown, the smell of soap and after-shave lotion. And it made her feel even warmer - and lonelier. She missed him, ached for him. Especially at moments like this, when he wasn't actually there, just the thought of him, the memory of the man he'd been.

She sat up, leaving the blanket on the bed. "Enough," she whispered, and pushed herself onto her feet.

She went next door to her room, changed her clothes, ran a brush through her hair. And then wandered downstairs. She found Marie in the kitchen preparing supper.

"Hello," she greeted. "Did you sleep well?"

Beverly nodded. "I didn't realize I was so tired. I didn't even hear Jean-Luc get up. Where is he?"

"Robert found him sitting at the top of the stairs about a half hour ago, and now they've gone out to the vineyard to inspect some vines and pick some grapes."

"He already loves it here."

"And we love having both of you here," Marie said.

"Thanks. Can I help you do anything?"

"You can sit down at the table and talk to me. I never have any company in this kitchen – especially female company."

Beverly smiled and sat down. "You're sure there's nothing more I can do than talk?"

Marie took a lid off a pot on the stove and stirred the contents with a long wooden spoon. "No, I'm sure. Now, tell me all about Wesley. Jean-Luc used to mention him in his letters."

"Well, he's one of my favorite subjects of conversation, so just remember, you asked."

Marie laughed. "Tell me everything."

Thirty minutes passed, and Beverly found herself talking with Marie as if she'd known her all her life. They had a lot in common. Both mothers with bright, talented sons. And both in love with a Picard man.

"They really are a lot alike," Marie commented, as she cut up red peppers for the salad. "I realized that the last time Jean-Luc was here."

"After his encounter with the Borg," Beverly murmured.

"Yes. It was a difficult time for him, but he's just as stubborn as Robert. Neither of them would admit how similar they are, but they know it themselves. Picards are all cut out of the same cloth. Strong, determined."

Beverly shook her head. "I keep wondering where that strong, determined part of Jean-Luc is right now. Whatever happened to him while he was missing has traumatized him so severely that he's lost that strong part of himself. Although, he hasn't lost the stubborn part," she laughed lightly.

The backdoor opened just then, and Robert, Jean-Luc, and Rene tramped inside, each of them carrying a basket full of grapes.

"Oh, you've been busy," Marie exclaimed, reaching out and taking the baskets from them, and setting them on the kitchen counter.

"We thought you could make some jelly out of these," Robert suggested, putting an arm around her.

"Jelly?" she questioned, looking at the piles of grapes.

"Mum, you haven't made any in a long time," Rene pleaded. "And Uncle Jean-Luc hasn't had any in an even longer time, and Aunt Beverly has never had any, and-"

"Enough. Enough already," Marie sighed. "All anyone has to do is simply ask me nicely," she hinted, raising an eyebrow at her husband.

Robert started to respond, but Jean-Luc spoke first.

"P-please," he stuttered, his gaze shifting from Marie to the baskets of grapes and back again.

"Now, see there. That's all it takes." She reached out and placed a hand against Jean-Luc's cheek. "I'd be happy to make you some jelly, Jean-Luc."

He blushed and turned his eyes away from her, looked toward Beverly, and was met with a warm smile.

"Good, Jean-Luc," she whispered.

~vVv~


	37. Chapter 37

Supper was wonderful. Beverly couldn't remember the last time she'd had a true home-made meal.

"I still can't believe you cook like this every night, Marie," she said afterwards as they were sitting in the living room. "And you manage without a replicator."

Robert looked up from where he was sprawled on the floor working a puzzle with Jean-Luc and Rene. "Beverly, don't go putting any ideas in my wife's head."

"Papa doesn't like the 'R' word," Rene laughed.

And Jean-Luc laughed, too, which made Beverly laugh, because she knew Jean-Luc had no idea why he was laughing, and sometimes you just had to laugh with him or you'd cry.

And then Marie laughed at the expression on Robert's face. And they all laughed until Rene's face turned red and there were tears gathering in Beverly's eyes.

"It was not that funny," Robert stated, pulling his mantle of authority back into place.

"No, dear, it wasn't that funny. Just... typical of you."

Jean-Luc had turned his attention back to the puzzle, and he yawned has he rummaged through the pieces.

"I think someone is getting tired," Beverly commented.

Jean-Luc looked up at her, recognizing her tone of voice. "No," he insisted.

"Yes," she countered, getting up from her chair.

"It's almost your bedtime, too, Rene," Marie added.

Rene groaned. "Mum, it's early."

"Listen to your mother, Rene," Robert said. "Bedtime."

Rene pushed himself up off the floor. "All right. But, Papa, don't do the entire puzzle yourself. Save some for me and Uncle Jean-Luc to do tomorrow."

"Of course, I will," Robert waved off his son's concern as he fit another corner piece into the puzzle.

Rene sighed. "Come on, Uncle." He extended his hand and Jean-Luc took it, allowed the boy to help him up off the floor.

Beverly looked on in amazement. It was like watching a big brother with a little brother. Rene led Jean-Luc over to the stairs and Beverly followed.

Jean-Luc glanced at her. "Rene help... pajamas," he managed.

Beverly's eyes widened. "Jean-Luc..."

"That's all right, Aunt Beverly. I can help," Rene offered, and they both disappeared up the stairs.

Beverly looked back into the living room. "I think I've just been replaced," she said warily.

Marie smiled over at her. "He's growing up, Beverly."

Robert looked up at his wife. "They both are, Marie."

She frowned at him. "Thanks for reminding me."

"You're welcome." And he returned his concentration to the puzzle before him.

~vVv~

Beverly gave Rene and Jean-Luc a few minutes on their own, and then she went upstairs and joined them. They'd found Jean-Luc's pajamas and were in the process of putting them on.

"He can put them on himself," Rene said, sitting on the edge of the bed watching Jean-Luc find the sleeves in his pajama shirt and push his arms into them.

"He does fairly well with them," Beverly agreed. "He just has trouble with the buttons." She stepped closer and leaned over Jean-Luc, buttoned the front of his shirt.

He yawned again and rubbed at his eyes.

"Jean-Luc, what do you say to Rene for helping you find your pajamas?"

"Thank you," he murmured tiredly.

"You're welcome," Rene returned, getting up from the bed. "Sleep well. I'll see you in the morning. We'll finish that puzzle."

"Goodnight, Rene. Thanks," Beverly smiled after him as he left the room, and then turned her attention back to Jean-Luc.

He sat with his head tilting toward one shoulder, his thumb now lodged in his mouth, his eyes almost closed. She reached behind him and pulled the blanket and sheet down, then took him by the arm. "Come on, Jean-Luc, into bed."

He lay back, pushing his legs under the covers, a hand reaching out for his blanket. Beverly folded his green blanket over him, tucking it close around his neck and shoulders. He smiled around the thumb in his mouth, tired eyes glowing. She sat down on the edge of the bed and smoothed her hand across his cheek. "I love you, Jean-Luc," she whispered, then kissed him softly.

He sighed, and closed his eyes. She sat beside him for a few moments and then started to get up. Jean-Luc's eyes flew open and his hand grabbed her arm. She settled back down. "Shh," she soothed, her hand rubbing his cheek again, "I'll stay." _Forever_.

~vVv~


	38. Chapter 38

The next few days were wonderfully relaxing. Jean-Luc spent much of his time with Robert or Rene, perfectly content to check in with Beverly three or four times during the day, and then follow his brother off to the vineyard for several hours. Beverly enjoyed visiting with Marie. They tried out some new recipes, went shopping in the village, took long walks in the French countryside. And Beverly was relieved to be able to share her thoughts and concerns with other people. Sometimes the responsibility of Jean-Luc was a heavy burden to bear alone.

She rolled the bread dough across the flour-covered table, kneaded it with her hands and fingers. "I haven't been thinking much about the future since we've been here."

"You need to have some time when you don't have to worry about that," Marie said, looking over her shoulder. She stood at the large old-fashioned stove stirring a pot of vegetable soup. She took a sip, and then added a pinch of salt, tasted it again.

"You're right," Beverly agreed. "But we can't stay here forever."

Marie sighed. "Beverly, you've only been here three days. Don't worry about overstaying your welcome. This is Jean-Luc's home, and now it's yours. You're welcome to stay forever if you'd like. I personally would love to have another woman around to talk to. Don't ever tell Robert this, but grape conversations get old after a while."

Beverly laughed. "Jean-Luc always talks about archaeology." She stopped her thought. "I mean, he used to."

"Sometimes I think the Picard men are a bit obsessive about their interests."

Beverly nodded. "True. But I'd give anything to hear Jean-Luc go on and on about some new archaeological artifact discovered on New Caledonia VI."

Marie left the soup on the stove to simmer and joined Beverly at the kitchen table. "Maybe soon he will. It seems to me that he's been talking more just in the few days since you've been here."

"I think he has been, too. I'm still so pleaded that he feels comfortable with Robert and Rene. It's good for him to have other people around. I think I was becoming a little over protective."

"Oh, I don't think so," Marie said, reaching across the table and taking the bread dough. "Here, let me put that in the oven to bake, and then we can tell the men that you made it yourself."

Beverly laughed. "From scratch."

"Robert will be pleased. He'll think we've converted you."

They heard the back door slam, and Rene appeared in the kitchen doorway. It was warm outside, and his hair was damp and pushed back off his forehead.

"Hello," Marie greeted, "you look like you've been working hard."

He nodded, and headed across the kitchen. "Sweeping the courtyard," he explained, opening the refrigerator door. He pulled out a pitcher of lemonade.

Marie handed him a glass from the cupboard.

"Where is Jean-Luc?" Beverly asked, stepping over to the doorway, peering across the service porch, and out the windowed back door.

Rene took a long gulp of the tart liquid. "He's with Papa in the vineyard. Papa taught him how to pull off dead vines. He says Uncle Jean-Luc used to hate doing it when he was a kid." Rene grinned. "I hate it, too."

"So," Marie smiled, "he's got Jean-Luc doing your dirty work."

"Yeah, but he likes it now."

Marie took the pitcher of lemonade and two cups, placed them in a basket. "Why don't you take this out to the vineyard for them? I'm sure they'd appreciate it."

Rene drained his own glass, and then took the basket from his mother. "All right." He started toward the door, then stopped. "When are we going to eat supper?"

"Not for another two hours. Now go," Marie pushed his gently out the door.

Beverly smiled. "You know, I like the idea of Jean-Luc and Robert working together in the vineyard."

"So do I," Marie agreed, returning to the pot of soup on the stove. She dipped up a spoonful, extended it toward Beverly. "Here, taste this."

Beverly leaned forward, took a sip. "Umm," she hummed, "that's good."

And Marie laughed. "A perfect complement to your homemade bread."

~vVv~

Ten minutes later, they heard someone burst through the front door.

"Marie! Beverly!" Robert's voice called loud and urgent.

They both rushed into the front entry hall. Robert stood there, a worried, anxious expression on his face.

"What is it?" Marie asked.

"Jean-Luc..." Robert drew in a deep breath. He'd been running. "He's… he's missing."

Beverly felt her blood run cold. "Missing?"

Robert shook his head. "I thought he was with Rene, and Rene thought he was with me. We've looked around the yard and we can't find him. Rene's headed down the road. I've got one of the workers searching the fields behind the house."

"We'll all look," Marie said, and then reached over to squeeze Beverly's arm. "We'll find him."

~vVv~

The sun was hot. It beat down on the back of his neck, and made him feel itchy and wet. Robert insisted that he wear a hat, but it only covered his head. His shoulders ached, and his hands hurt from pulling at the wilted grape vines. He remembered now. He'd done this before. He'd felt the heat. Smelled the earthy, heady aroma of the vineyard on a hot summer day. But then, it had been a different man who'd been with him. Not Robert. And yet, he'd looked a little bit like Robert, talked like him.

He pushed the hat back on his head, rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes. He was tired. He wanted to go back to the house. He looked down the row of grape vines. Robert was far away from him, his back hunched over the tangle of vines. He didn't need him to take him back. He knew the way. He pushed himself off his knees, turned and began to walk.

And walk.

And walk.

There was no house. Just a dusty road between tall trees. But it was nice. Cool and shady. He was glad to leave the heat in the vineyards. He would walk until he found the house. And Beverly would be there.

~vVv~

"Jean-Luc!" Beverly called his name repeatedly, her throat sore and dry. The long road stretched out before her. She knew if he'd gone this way he'd eventually reach the village. "Jean-Luc!"

~vVv~

He kept walking.

He never saw the house.

He wanted Beverly. Now. He felt tears burn his eyes. He started to run. And he ran until he got tired. And still, there was no house. He left the road, moved into the leafy shrubs that ran alongside it, the ground soft beneath his feet. He collapsed beside a tree, leaned his head forward onto his knees, and began to cry. "Beverly," he murmured as he rocked back and forth. "Beverly."

~vVv~


	39. Chapter 39

"Jean-Luc!"

It was his name.

"Jean-Luc!"

He looked up. He could see the road. He could see someone coming. He scrambled to his feet, vines and bushes scraping against his face, and arms, and legs. He pushed through them to the road.

"Oh, Jean-Luc!" She saw him, and started to run.

He ran. And tripped. Fell face down in the dust.

"Jean." She reached him and knelt down, gathered him in her arms. "Jean-Luc." She cradled him to her, rocked him gently. She was crying.

He started to cry again, the tears stinging the scrapes on his cheeks. "Bev... Bev," he mumbled over and over. "Bev..."

"I'm here. You're all right. I'm here." She held her cheek to his, and he could feel her tears on his face.

"House," he breathed, pressing his body closer to hers, wanting her to hold him.

"I know." She rubbed her hand over his back. "You were looking for the house." She held him tightly, and they sat there in the middle of the road for long minutes. And then, she helped him to his feet, and he leaned on her as they started to walk back to the house.

"House," he whispered. "House."

~vVv~

She rang the large bell outside the kitchen door when they got to the house. He looked at her curiously.

"Everyone's out looking for you," she explained. "When they hear the bell, they'll know someone's found you."

He nodded, and she led him inside, set him down at the kitchen table.

"House," he said.

"Yes, Jean-Luc, we're back at the house."

"Thirsty."

"I'll get you some water." She went and got a glass of water, brought it back to him, held it while he sipped at it.

They heard the back door open. Marie appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Thank goodness," she exhaled. "Where did you find him?"

"About a mile up the road."

Jean-Luc stared at Marie.

"His face…" she began.

"I know," Beverly answered. "He did some crawling through the bushes. Could you bring me my medical kit from upstairs?"

"Of course."

Marie left the kitchen, and Beverly took a dishcloth, ran it under some warm water, and returned to Jean-Luc. She knelt down beside him. "Jean-Luc, this may hurt a little bit," she warned as she touched the damp cloth to the scrapes on his cheek.

He winced, but didn't pull away. Her touch was gentle. And he trusted Beverly not to hurt him on purpose.

There was someone at the backdoor, and Robert and Rene burst into the kitchen.

"Jean-Luc!" Robert's voice was loud and Jean-Luc cringed. "Where were you?" he demanded, taking a step toward the table.

Jean-Luc whimpered, suddenly afraid of the man.

"Robert." Beverly's quiet voice stopped him, making him realize that he was frightening his brother.

"I'm sorry." He took a deep breath, then sank into another chair. "Jean-Luc, I was worried about you."

"I was, too," Rene said, standing beside his father.

"Hot," Jean-Luc tried to explain. "House."

Robert nodded. "Next time, tell me what you want. All right?"

Jean-Luc smiled slightly at the man. "All right."

~vVv~


	40. Chapter 40

Thankfully, the rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully – until just before dinner when someone knocked on the front door. Marie was in the kitchen, Rene was upstairs, Beverly and Robert were in the living room, both reading, and Jean-Luc was with them, sitting on the floor, bent over the almost-finished puzzle. Marie went through the entry hall toward the door. Beverly could hear voices and then the visitor appeared in the arched doorway, standing beside her sister-in-law, totally out of context.

"Beverly, there's someone here who would like to see Jean-Luc."

She stared at Hadrian, knowing immediately why he must be here. Then she stood and took a step toward him. "Tolbert, I've told you this a million times. No. No more specialists. No more poking and prodding at him." She shifted her gaze to where Jean-Luc was sitting. "Just leave him alone. Let us be. Let him be." She moved over to him, placed her hand on his shoulder. He didn't even look up at her, but she focused her eyes on him. "He's not coming back. I know that now. But he's no longer in pain. There are no more nightmares. And sometimes... sometimes I actually think he's happy."

"But he's not."

The deep voice came from behind her, and Beverly swung around, found herself staring at a tall, dark-haired man. He was a Vulcan. He was...

"Spock." Beverly swallowed. She'd never seen him in person, but she'd seen pictures, and Jean-Luc had told her all about his own encounter with the man. And he was here, in France, in the middle of the Picard family home.

"Forgive me if I startled you," he said quietly, moving further into the room. "I see Doctor Hadrian has not yet told you that I accompanied him here."

"She hasn't given me a chance to tell her yet," Hadrian sighed, shaking his head.

Spock came and stood in front of Beverly and Jean-Luc. "I understand that your first concern is the wellbeing of your husband, but you must not allow yourself to accept his condition. I have come to help, if I am able to."

Beverly looked from the Vulcan to the doctor and back again. "Help? How?"

"I am sure you are aware that Captain Picard and I mind melded with each other several years ago."

"Yes, Jean-Luc told me."

"Since that time, a part of him has always been a part of me. It is possible that another meld may help him to gain greater control of his thoughts and emotions. In essence, I can give back to him a part of the Jean-Luc Picard he gave to me."

Beverly wasn't sure what to say. She had come so close to accepting Jean-Luc the way he was; to allow herself to hope for more was almost more painful than the acceptance. She looked over at Hadrian. "Tolbert?"

"I wouldn't have brought him here if I didn't think it could help. It's taken me and the _Enterprise_ almost four weeks to find him and sneak him out of Romulan territory."

"The _Enterprise_?"

"Actually, it was Deanna Troi's idea. We didn't want to mention it to you until we were able to find Ambassador Spock."

"Doctor Crusher," the Vulcan spoke, "I assure you I would do nothing to intentionally harm your husband."

"No, of course, you wouldn't," Beverly said quickly. "It's just that... What if it doesn't help?"

Hadrian stepped over to her, placed his hand on her arm. "Beverly, if it doesn't help, then he's not any worse off than he is right now."

She looked over at Marie, and then toward Robert, her expression questioning. And although they'd been quiet during the conversation, they were his family, too.

Robert sighed, feeling the weight of her decision, and taking some of that burden from her, he said, "I miss him, Beverly. And if the Ambassador believes that he can help, I think we should let him."

Beverly lowered her eyes, gazed into the blank face of her husband, and slowly nodded her head.

~vVv~

They sat at the desk in Jean-Luc's bedroom, Jean-Luc on one side, Spock on the other. Hadrian stood on the opposite side of the room; Beverly knelt beside Jean-Luc. She could tell he was frightened, and yet he had not cried out, had not clung to her has he had in the past. He sat quietly, staring at the man across from him.

"He will experience fear and confusion at the beginning of the meld," Spock explained carefully, "but as we progress, those feelings will lessen. When the meld is completed, he will be quite tired."

Beverly nodded in understanding.

Spock raised his arm, moved his hand toward Jean-Luc's face. Jean-Luc cringed, drew away slightly, his own hand reaching out for Beverly. She grabbed hold of him, her fingers tightening around his.

She looked at the Vulcan. "Is it all right if I hold his hand?"

"Yes, it will not interfere," Spock assured, laying his own hand against Jean-Luc's face, his fingers and thumb automatically finding the correct contact points.

Beverly could feel the muscles in Jean-Luc's body tense, as did her own. She waited.

Spock closed his eyes. "My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts."

Just as she'd witnessed years ago at the meld between Sarek and Jean-Luc, Jean-Luc's eyes went wide with shock, but only for a moment. Unlike that other meld, Jean-Luc was not being exposed to the chaotic emotions brought on by Bendii Syndrome. This time, the emotions were calm, orderly. Emotions that, in some way, were very much like his own had been.

The meld lasted three to four minutes, and when Spock opened his eyes, and drew his hand away, Jean-Luc immediately slumped forward in his chair, his head dropping down toward his chest. Beverly ran her tricorder over him. Vital signs were normal.

"As I said, he will need to sleep," Spock reminded her. "A mild sedative is advisable."

Hadrian came over, and Beverly straightened up. Together, they took Jean-Luc under the arms, and helped him over to the bed. He lay down on top of it, and Beverly sat down beside him. Gently, she ran her hand over his forehead. And then, taking the hypospray that Hadrian handed to her, she checked the setting and held it to Jean-Luc's neck. It was then that his eyes opened.

He stared up at her. "Beverly?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.

"I'm right here, Jean-Luc."

"Beverly," he said again.

And she knew.

For the first time, in over three months, he really recognized her. The name his lips had formed held meaning for him. For them both.

"Yes, Jean-Luc," she smiled. "It's me." She touched his cheek. "You need to sleep now. I'll be here when you wake up. I promise." She pressed the hypo to his skin, and his eyes closed instantly. Leaning over, she brushed her lips against his, and then stood up, joined the two men who stood in the doorway.

"Ambassador Spock, are you all right?" she asked, running her tricorder over the Vulcan.

"I am fine, Doctor, thank you for your concern."

They stepped into the hall.

"He should sleep for several hours," Hadrian said.

"That will be sufficient," Spock answered. "When he does wake, do not expect him to be the same man he was before this ordeal. I believe he will be better, but it will take more time. Much more time."

Beverly nodded. "I understand. But, just now, when he said my name, I knew that he knew me." She stared up at the tall Vulcan. "I thank you for what you've done for him."

"You're welcome, but whatever I have done for him can never repay the gift he once gave to me." Spock inclined his head, then glanced at Hadrian. "I must be going. I wish I could stay and speak with Captain Picard when he wakes, but that will not be possible. You will tell him that... I said hello."

"Yes, I will," Beverly assured him.

And then, Spock turned, and as quietly as he had entered barely an hour before, he left, striding down the hall toward the front stairs.

Hadrian followed, looking back over his shoulder at Beverly. "I will transport back to the _Enterprise_ with the Ambassador, but I will return shortly. We have some decisions to make about Jean-Luc's treatment."

Beverly nodded again. She knew that they did. She also knew that now those decisions would not be as hard to make.

In fact, she thought to herself as she turned and went back into Jean-Luc's bedroom, there was one decision she'd already made.

~vVv~


	41. Chapter 41

"I think home is the best place for Jean-Luc to be now," Beverly stated simply, looking around at the three adults that sat in the living room with her.

Robert nodded in agreement and squeezed Marie's hand. His wife smiled back at him.

Hadrian sighed in relief. "I think it is a wise choice for you to bring Jean-Luc back to San Francisco."

Beverly shook her head. "Tolbert, we've been in San Francisco for the past three months out of necessity. Even though everyone at Starfleet Medical has been like a family to us... it's not home."

"I knew you'd see how important it was to stay here, Beverly," Robert spoke up. "Marie and I want you to know that this is always your home."

Beverly shifted her gaze toward the couple on the sofa. "Robert, Marie... You've both been wonderful. And Rene, too. But... this may always be Jean-Luc's boyhood home, but it's not his home now."

"Beverly, I don't understand..." Hadrian started.

"Tolbert, Jean-Luc and I have a home. And as soon as that home is finished returning Ambassador Spock to Romulan space, I intend for it to return here, for us."

"The _Enterprise_?" Robert questioned.

"Yes," Beverly said firmly. "Our home."

"But..." Hadrian still protested.

"I know that Will Riker is the captain now, and that Jean-Luc ever being able to return to that capacity is... doubtful. But, there is still a position there for me. And since families are allowed onboard the _Enterprise_, there is a place there for Jean-Luc as well." She turned toward her brother-in-law. "Robert, please understand."

The man nodded, glanced at his wife, and then back at Beverly. "I understand, Beverly. Any place else would be..." He hesitated for a moment. "Just a little glass box."

Beverly smiled.

"But," Robert added, a sharp cautionary tone to his voice, "you had better keep a rope tied to him."

She leaned forward and hugged the man, whispered into his ear. "Always."

~vVv~

He woke slowly, stretching and yawning, rubbing at his eyes with his fists. He made small waking-up noises. At least, that's what Beverly had always thought of them as: lips smacking, stomach growling, nose puffing little snorts of air. All the noises that belonged to him, and she sat in silence and listened. And watched.

He would be coming back to her. Somehow she knew that now. Looked forward to every day that they would spend working toward the goal of returning him to the Jean-Luc Picard he was before.

He opened his eyes, squinted up at her. "Be-Beverly?"

"Still here," she assured him, taking hold of his hand, large and warm, and pulling it to her chest. Gently, she stroked her other hand over his cheeks and forehead. "How do you feel?"

"Tired," he murmured, squeezing his eyes closed, opening them again. They roamed around the room. "Where… where am I?" he stammered, his voice sounding as if it were unsure of itself.

"Do you recognize it?"

He pushed his head up on the pillow. "La Barre," he said. "But how... when..."

"Easy, Jean-Luc," she soothed. "What do you remember?"

His gaze focused on her. "Robert… Spock..." And then his face crumpled, and tears sprang instantly to his eyes. "Oh, Beverly... No!" A myriad of jumbled images assaulted his mind: Cardassians, a hospital, faces he did not know, another hospital. He grabbed hold of Beverly's arms, held tightly to her. But through it all, she'd been there. And she was her now. He folded his body into hers, and he cried.

Beverly rocked him slowly, her hands rubbing his back, her lips kissing his cheeks, tasting the salt of his tears. "It's all right, Jean-Luc. Everything's all right." _It's all right._

~vVv~

He was aware of his reality now. All too aware. Painfully aware. And the memories that came flooding back into his mind were too much for him. And so, he ran from his new-found reality, tried desperately to hide from the images that assaulted him. Whether waking or sleeping, they were always there. He pulled back, distanced himself, regressed again. In many ways, he was as he had been before Spock came: frightened, childlike, dependent upon Beverly for everything.

_Still so much like a baby,_ she thought as she tucked his green blanket around his shoulders. But at least now he was a baby she knew, and one who knew her.

She sat back and smiled as Jean-Luc's ever-present thumb found its way into his slack mouth, lips closing, tongue curling rhythmically around it.

"He was eight before he gave it up, " Robert's voice came from behind her.

She looked back at him. "It makes him feel safe."

Robert bent down or one knee next to the bed and lightly rubbed his hand over his brother's forehead. "I'm afraid I teased him unmercifully about that thumb."

"I'm surprised that it was a habit of his."

"Yes, it doesn't seem like the great Captain Jean-Luc Picard, does it?"

Beverly lowered her head and didn't reply.

"Beverly?" He touched her shoulder.

She shook her head, as if to shrug off his concern.

"What is it?" he insisted.

She sighed, looked over at him. "The great Captain Jean-Luc Picard," she whispered, shifting her gaze to the man on the bed. "He may never be the great Captain Jean-Luc Picard again."

Robert's hand, still on her shoulder, tightened reassuringly. "He may not. But he is Jean-Luc again. And that is enough."

Beverly smiled, gathering strength from her brother-in-law's words. "More than enough," she agreed.

~vVv~


	42. Chapter 42

"Beverly, must you leave so soon?" Marie slid a cup of tea across the table and sat down opposite the red-haired woman.

"Marie..."

"I'm not trying to talk you into staying permanently. It's just that the _Enterprise_ won't be back for several days. Why not stay a little longer?"

Beverly raised the cup to her lips and took a long sip of the warm liquid before answering. "I wish we could. I'm not looking forward to closing down the house in San Francisco and saying goodbye to Wesley and to all of you. The next few days are going to be very hectic."

"How do you think Jean-Luc will react to all the changes now that he's more aware of what's going on around him?"

"I'm not sure – although I feel like I'm about to embark on an old-fashioned cross-galaxy journey with a three-year-old in tow."

"One of us could come along to help."

"No, but thank you." She reached over and covered Marie's hand with her own. "We're going to be all right."

~vVv~

Twenty-four hours later, Beverly was regretting the assurance she'd made her sister-in-law. She'd chosen to return to San Francisco via shuttle, since Jean-Luc was frightened by the transporting process. Although the trip only took a few hours, they were proving to be very long hours.

"Tired," Jean-Luc complained for the fifteenth time, pulling at her shirt sleeve.

"Then just lie back and close your eyes," she suggested. She'd already tilted his seat back for him.

He shifted uncomfortably, pushing his legs out in front of him. "Blanket," he demanded.

Beverly sighed. The green blanket was folded in their luggage and stowed in the back of the shuttle. She should have realized that the uncertainty of the situation would make him anxious for familiar things.

"I don't have your blanket right now, Jean-Luc," she tried to explain quietly. "It's in the back of the shuttle. You can sleep without it. It's not cold."

"Blanket," he said again, raising his voice.

There were only a few other passengers on the shuttle, and they'd already taken notice of Beverly and Jean-Luc. Although she'd chosen a semi-private shuttle on purpose, so that both she and Jean-Luc could get used to having other people around, she didn't want to call any more attention to them.

"Jean-Luc," she placed a hand on his thigh, leaned closer to him, "I can't get your blanket right now. Just try to rest without it. We're almost to San Francisco."

"No!" he said forcefully, pushing her hand away. "I want..." He paused, frowning, facial muscles tense with anger and frustration. Then he heaved a sigh of exhaustion. "Tired," he complained again, his body sliding further down into his seat in a defeated movement.

Beverly touched his cheek and drew his head to her shoulder. He allowed it to rest there, warm and heavy, tears silently flowing from his eyes.

"Shh, Jean-Luc. It won't be long now."

~vVv~

Wesley met them at the shuttle port. He knew without asking that the journey had been difficult. Beverly led a shuffling Jean-Luc by the hand, his cheeks tear-stained. Her own eyes were red and tired.

"How is he?" he asked tentatively as his mother hugged him.

Beverly drew back from her son's arms. She'd already contacted him and told him about their meeting with Ambassador Spock, but she hadn't gone into detail. She glanced over at Jean-Luc, waiting next to the baggage carousel. "He's better in some ways, Wes, worse in others. I think he can remember now what happened to him, but he's not yet able to tell me. His mind is still dealing with the memories. They're very painful. I'm afraid he's still quite childlike."

"It doesn't look like the trip was an easy one."

Beverly shook her head. "No. He's not dealing with change very well. And, unfortunately, there's going to be a lot of it in the next few days."

Wesley stared down at his feet for a moment. "Mom, are you sure going back to the _Enterprise _is the best thing to do?" He looked back up into his mother's eyes, saw his own fear and uncertainty mirrored in her blue-eyed gaze.

They both turned their attention to Jean-Luc. He'd already retrieved one of their suitcases and was sitting on it, waiting for the others. He was rocking back and forth, oblivious to Wesley, Beverly, and the other people in the shuttle port

Beverly sighed. "Wes, he doesn't really know who he is, or where he is. He needs to go home." She turned back and took her son's hands in hers. "I need to go home."

~vVv~

A good night's sleep did wonders for both of them. Beverly woke rested and refreshed. She pulled on a robe and went into Jean-Luc's room to check on him. He wasn't there.

"Jean-Luc!" she called as she headed down the stairs. There was no reply.

She hurried into the kitchen. It was empty.

"Jean-Luc!" She was beginning to feel panicked now. It wasn't like him to go downstairs on his own in the morning, at least not without coming to her bedroom first. She pushed open the door into the dining room and came to an abrupt halt. The table was set for breakfast: the best china, silverware, a tablecloth and linen napkins. A plate of croissants, two glasses of orange juice, a pair of teacups and a pot of tea, Even a vase of roses as a centerpiece.

She stared, open-mouthed, for long moments. Jean-Luc stood across from her, a worried expression on his face.

"Is it... is it all right?" he whispered. "I... I didn't spill anything."

"Jean-Luc," she swallowed around a lump in her throat, "it's more than all right. It's beautiful." She went over to him and placed her hand against his cheek. "Thank you."

He smiled then, a shy, hesitant smile that lit his face and eyes. "You sit down. Eat."

"I will. And you sit down and eat, too."

He nodded, and they both sat down together. Beverly still couldn't believe what she was seeing, or hearing, for Jean-Luc talked throughout their breakfast. The conversation wasn't very advanced; it mostly centered on food, but it was his voice, his thoughts, and Beverly loved the sound.

"I can't wait to write and tell Robert and Marie about this. They'll both be so impressed." She smiled over at Jean-Luc, but noticed the look of confusion that spread across his features.

"Robert?" he asked slowly.

"Your brother, Jean-Luc. Remember, we visited him and his wife, Marie. And your nephew, Rene." She could tell the names were unfamiliar to him. His face grew more tense and confused, and his eyes filled with tears. She reached out and touched her hand to his. "It's all right, Jean-Luc. The past few days have been... well, we've both been through a lot. Let's just finish our wonderful breakfast, shall we?"

He shook his head in agreement, and took a sip of his tea. Beverly sighed. Jean-Luc's actions and emotions were changing daily, and she was never quite sure what to expect. She'd decided to take him to the Medical Center later in the day and let Tolbert Hadrian give him a thorough examination.

~vVv~


	43. Chapter 43

He knew where they were going the moment they stepped out the front door, and he took a step back. "No. I don't...want to go," he said stubbornly, shaking his head.

Beverly held his hand firmly in hers and gave him a slight pull.

He resisted. "No," he said again.

"Jean-Luc, you haven't seen Tolbert in almost a week. He just wants to see how you're doing."

Jean-Luc lowered his head and ran a fist over his forehead, rubbing hard, as if trying to rub away a bad headache. Or a bad memory.

Beverly stepped closer to him. "Jean-Luc." She took his hand in her other hand, pulled it gently away from his head. "I'll stay with you this time; I promise."

He looked up at her, the corners of his mouth twitching nervously. "They... they... hurt me."

Beverly swallowed and closed her eyes for a moment when she saw the depth of fear and pain in Jean-Luc's gaze. She looked back at him. "I know. I won't let them do it again. All right?"

He drew in a deep breath, and shuddered as he released it. But he nodded slowly. "All right," he whispered, and then allowed her to give him a quick hug of reassurance.

~vVv~

He talked all the way to the center - about everything and nothing. The sky, the trees, the flowers. It was a beautiful summer day, and the sun and Jean-Luc's voice touched Beverly and made her feel truly alive for the first time in months. He would be coming back to her. She knew that now, believed it with all her heart and soul.

~vVv~

"Don't expect a miracle, Beverly." Hadrian's voice was pitched low so that Jean-Luc couldn't hear from the other side of the examining room.

Hadrian and Beverly were standing next to the door, and Jean-Luc was sitting on a biobed, intently inspecting the medical gown a nurse had put on him.

"Who said I was expecting a miracle?" Beverly hissed in return.

"You said yourself that his behavior changes from moment to moment. One lucid, alert day doesn't ensure that every day will be like this."

"Tolbert..." she started to protest.

He held up a hand. "I do believe that he will improve. I just want you to be prepared for the times when he regresses - when progress doesn't seem so readily accessible."

She nodded reluctantly in agreement.

Hadrian continued. "There does seem to be further problems with his memory. Every day is going to be an uphill climb." He put a hand on Beverly's shoulder. "Are you sure you want to take him back to the _Enterprise_?"

She sighed. "Hadrian..."

He gave her a tired smile. "All right. I won't say another word. You both have my support." He looked over at Jean-Luc. "Now, let's see how he's doing physically."

~vVv~

"Good shape." Jean-Luc put both of his arms out to his sides and pulled his hands into fists.

Beverly sat on the floor next to the bathtub and laughed at his imposing imitation of a championship boxer. "Yes, Jean-Luc, Tolbert said you're in good shape."

"Strong." He shook his fists at her.

"Yes, you're strong," she agreed, leaning forward and running a soapy bath cloth over his chest and shoulders. "Now, put your arms down; you're dripping all over me."

Jean-Luc lowered his arms and pushed his hands against the surface of the bubble-covered water; it splashed up into Beverly's face

"Jean-Luc, be still," she chided, rubbing the back of her hand over her eyes.

"Sorry," he said dejectedly, then sat very still and let her finish bathing him.

Later, while she was helping him put on his pajamas, he asked the question he'd been thinking about all day. "What's a miracle?"

Beverly froze in mid-action, one leg of Jean-Luc's pajamas half-way over his knee, the other around his ankle. "What?" she questioned, knowing she'd heard correctly, but needing the extra few moments to gather her wits about her.

"What's a miracle?" he asked again, reaching down and tugging at the pajama pants himself.

She finished pulling them into place, and then sat down beside him on the edge of the bed. "When did you hear someone talking about a miracle, Jean-Luc?"

He lowered his gaze and nervously scrubbed his hand over the hair on his bare chest. He looked around for his pajama shirt.

"Here it is," Beverly said softly, and helped him push his arms into the sleeves. "It's all right, Jean-Luc," she assured him, as she buttoned the front of the shirt. "You heard Tolbert and me talking this afternoon didn't you?"

He didn't look up, but nodded affirmatively.

She gave his shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "Well, there's nothing wrong with your hearing, is there?"

He shook his head.

Beverly touched her fingers to his chin and raised his face to hers. He gazed at her, his green eyes keen and intense.

"A miracle is something good that happens - something that can't always be explained." She rubbed her hands over his shoulders and down along the muscles in his upper arms. "Like you getting stronger," she smiled, shaking him gently.

He laughed softly. "Good shape," he echoed Hadrian's words again.

"That's right." She ran a hand over his cheek. "What else did you hear?"

Jean-Luc swallowed nervously, and lowered his eyes again.

"Jean-Luc?" she prompted.

"_Enterprise,_" he breathed.

"Do you remember the _Enterprise_?" she asked, holding her breath to hear his answer.

He looked up and smiled. "Home," he whispered, and then pressed himself into the warmth and security of Beverly's arms.

She released the breath she was holding with a sigh of relief, and held Jean-Luc close. "That's right, Jean-Luc. We're going home."

~vVv~


	44. Chapter 44

She packed for him while he sat on the bed, his eyes following her around the room. He shook his head when she started to put a grey shirt into his suitcase.

She held it out in front of her. "Why not this one?"

He shrugged.

"You look good in it."

"I don't… like it."

She started to say 'you used to, ' but she stopped herself. There were lots of things he used to like that he didn't like now.

"All right." She returned the shirt to the drawer. "No grey shirt." She took out a blue one. "How about this?"

He nodded his approval, and she folded it and placed in in the suitcase.

"I should have made you do this," she laughed, opening his closet. She pulled out his robe and a light weight jacket, turned around, and was surprised to find him standing beside her. "I'm just kidding, Jean-Luc. I don't mind packing. I'm actually getting quite good at it. "

Jean-Luc reached out and touched the dark red sleeve of his uniform which hung at the far end of the closet. Beverly had originally brought it back to San Francisco with them in the hopes that seeing it might help Jean-Luc remember. This was the first time he'd ever taken notice of it. She caught her breath, then gently took hold of his hand. "You won't need that for a while yet." She smiled. "But, we'll bring it anyway. For when the time comes." She took it in her hands, and gently drew Jean-Luc away from the closet, closed it behind them. "Here. Fold this." She handed him the jacket. He took it, folded it slowly and awkwardly, then went over and pushed it into his suitcase. Beverly placed the robe and uniform on top of it.

"Have we forgotten anything?" she asked, glancing around.

Jean-Luc didn't answer. He walked silently into the hall and down the stairs. She hesitated a moment, then followed him down to the living room. He stood by one of the windows, staring out at the dark night sky. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, tightly, hugging himself, holding on. But just barely. Beverly didn't need Deanna's empathic abilities to sense his fear. It was constant. At times, overwhelming. He'd come so far in the past few-days, but the journey back to himself would be long, and a road was hard to travel when you weren't sure what was at the end.

"I thought we might eat supper with Wesley tonight." She leaned against the edge of the sofa.

"Wesley?"

"You remember Wesley. He picked us up at the shuttle port the other day." She picked up his cadet picture from the coffee table and handed it to Jean-Luc.

He took it, studied it carefully, even though he'd just seen the young man a few days before. "Your son... and Jack's."

She took a deep breath. "That's right."

He'd remembered Jack's name on his own. When he looked at Wesley's picture, from somewhere in his fragmented mind it had come to him. But just the name. There was no knowledge of who Jack was, no memory of the man and what he'd meant to the both of them.

"Is it all right if Wesley comes over tonight?" she asked, not quite sure how he would react.

He nodded, almost imperceptibly, turned around slowly and stared at her. "And then we're going home?"

Beverly swallowed, shook her head. "Yes, Jean-Luc. Then we're going home."

~vVv~

"I'm going to miss you, Mom. Both of you," Wesley leaned against the counter as his mother straightened up the kitchen. Through the open doorway he could see Jean-Luc in the living room, sitting on the sofa watching the holoviewer. "Are you sure I can't come with you? I could take leave this semester. You might need some help with him. "

Beverly stopped her straightening and put a hand on her son's shoulder. "Thank you, Wes. But I have a feeling that I'm going to have more help than I need."

He nodded in understanding. He'd witnessed the hour long conversation his mother had had with Deanna on sub-space communications earlier in the evening. "Deanna and Will are looking forward to your return."

Beverly smiled and glanced into the living room. "They've missed him "

"And you," Wesley reminded her.

"I suppose," she agreed absently.

"And you've missed them."

Beverly sighed. "Oh, Wesley, it's been wonderful being here with you. And I am going to miss you, but…"

"I know. It's not home."

She brushed a hand over his cheek, pushed a strand of hair off his forehead. "I love you so much. You know that, don't you?"

He grinned. "I've suspected it for a long time."

She reached out and drew him into her arms. "You promise me you'll take care of yourself."

"I promise." He kissed her on the cheek. "I love you, Mom."

She embraced him for several moments longer, and then pulled back. "In that case, would you do me a favor?"

"You name it."

"Talk Jean-Luc into going to bed," she suggested.

Wesley laughed. "Sure, all you do is clean up the kitchen, and leave me to do the hard stuff."

Beverly shrugged and turned away, blinking back the sudden tears that had gathered there. "Well, I figured you needed one last challenge tonight. At least, I've already got his pajamas on him. The actual getting him into bed shouldn't be too hard."

"I think I can manage," Wesley replied as he left the kitchen knowing that his mother was giving him an opportunity to say goodbye to Jean-Luc on his own terms.

He walked into the living room and glanced at the holoviewer. "Hey, Jean-Luc, what are you watching?"

Jean-Luc looked up at him. "Watching?"

Wesley sat down on the sofa beside him. "What are you watching on the holoviewer?"

Jean-Luc shook his head. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

"Can I turn it off?"

"Yeah."

Wesley picked up the remote control and switched off the viewer. "Mom wanted me to come and see if you were ready to go to bed."

Jean-Luc frowned. "Not tired."

Wesley sighed. "I didn't think you would be."

They sat there in silence for a few moments.

"I could read you a story," Wesley suggested. It had been several weeks since he'd read Jean-Luc a bedtime story and he wasn't sure if he would remember.

"Story?"

"You could pick one out of your book. You want to go look?"

"Yeah," Jean-Luc whispered, getting off the sofa and heading toward the stairs.

Wesley followed him, catching his mother watching from the kitchen door.

"I'll be up in a little while," she said softly.

~vVv~

Jean-Luc pointed to a picture of a starship in his book. "_Enterprise_," he murmured.

"You think so," Wesley said, leaning against the bed's headboard next to him.

Jean-Luc nodded. "Going home."

"Yeah, I know." Wesley reached out and placed a hand on Jean-Luc's arm. "You'll like it there."

Jean-Luc yawned and let his head drop onto Wesley's shoulder.

"I'm going to miss you, Jean-Luc."

"Miss you, too." He yawned again, and his eyes fell closed.

Beverly appeared in the doorway. "He's right," she whispered. "We are going to miss you."

"How long have you been standing there?" Wesley whispered back.

She came over and sat down on the bed beside them. Jean-Luc sighed and settled closer onto Wesley's shoulder.

Beverly smiled. "Just long enough for him to fall asleep."

Wesley sighed. "I'm really going miss him, Mom. I mean, every day now he's going to be getting better, and I won't be there to watch."

Beverly leaned over and kissed her son on the cheek, "Just remember," she whispered in his ear, "Deanna Troi's not the only one who can talk on sub-space communications for over an hour."

~vVv~


	45. Chapter 45

Transporter Room Two had been cleared of all personnel except for Will Riker and Deanna Troi. They waited beside the console, exchanging nervous glances. It had been almost three months since they had seen Jean-Luc Picard, and they were both worried and excited about seeing him now. Beverly had explained to them his emotional state. They knew to take things slowly, not to expect him to remember them. But still, he was coming home. And for now, that would be enough.

The console signaled, and, with a hesitant grin, Will manipulated the controls. The air above the transporter shimmered, folded, and coalesced into the separate forms of Beverly and Jean-Luc. Separate, except for the fact that their hands were joined. Tightly, Deanna could tell, Jean-Luc holding on for all he was worth.

"Welcome home." Deanna smiled, moving toward them as Beverly guided Jean-Luc off the pad.

Awkwardly, the two women hugged each other, Jean-Luc still clinging to Beverly's hand. But he let go when Will stepped forward.

"Jean-Luc, it's good to see you." Will held out his hand and hesitantly Jean-Luc shook it just like Beverly had taught him.

"It's good... to see you…" He glanced at Beverly.

"Will," she reminded him.

Jean-Luc smiled back at the man. "Will."

"And I'm Deanna." The woman leaned over and kissed him on the cheek like Beverly did sometimes.

He looked into her dark eyes. "I know you."

She nodded affirmatively. "Yes, you do."

"I know both of you."

"That's right," Will said.

"I remember," Jean-Luc whispered, a smile spreading across his face.

Beverly wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "I thought you might. Does anything else look familiar?"

Jean-Luc's eyes roamed around the transporter room. He shook his head.

"Maybe you'd like to get settled in," Deanna suggested. "Your luggage has already been delivered to your quarters." She exchanged a glance with Beverly. "You might like to get some rest before dinner."

Beverly smiled. "That's a good idea, Deanna. Isn't it, Jean-Luc?"

He nodded absently, and then let his gaze settle on Will. "I know you," he said again. "Will."

"That's right. And I know you. Jean-Luc."

Perhaps he wasn't the Jean-Luc they'd always known. But he was Jean-Luc Picard. And he was home.

~vVv~

Will and Deanna walked with them to their quarters but then left them at the door, allowing them time to reacquaint themselves on their own. Beverly led Jean-Luc into the cabin, watching him carefully for any signs of recognition. They stood in the middle of the room, and he looked around. He was supposed to know this place; he knew that. But it wasn't familiar. Even the stars outside the viewports didn't comfort him. Instead of feeling good about being here, he felt frightened, even with Beverly standing beside him. He drew in a breath, felt hot tears in his eyes, and then on his cheeks.

"Jean-Luc." Beverly drew him into her arms. "It's all right. We're home."

He held on to her, and she rocked him gently as he cried. The past few days had been difficult. She knew the next few days would be also. Somehow she sensed that Jean-Luc knew that, too.

She hugged him close. "Let's take a bath, Jean-Luc, and put on your pajamas. Then we can have some supper." It was important to make him feel comfortable here, to set up familiar routines.

She felt his head nod slowly in agreement, and he pulled slightly away from her. Gently, she ran her fingers over his cheeks, brushed away the tears. Keeping an arm securely around his shoulders, she led him through the bedroom. He looked around curiously, but said nothing, made no indication that he remembered anything specific about their quarters.

They went into the bathroom, and he stood quiet and motionless while Beverly undressed him; bath time was a well-established routine and not even the new surroundings changed that. She filled the tub with warm water and helped him step in and sit down. The water felt good, soothing, but he held tightly to her hand, not wanting to let go. He rubbed the fingers of his other hand along the side of the tiled bathtub. It was different than their other one - the one in San Francisco.

"Do you remember this, Jean-Luc?" Beverly asked, watching his reaction.

He looked hack at her, into her eyes. "You," he breathed.

"Me?" She was confused.

"You..." he squeezed her hand, "take a bath."

~vVv~


	46. Chapter 46

Beverly had declined Jean-Luc's offer of sharing a bath, although it had been tempting. The warm water would have been relaxing. Later, she told herself, after Jean-Luc was in bed.

She finished bathing him, then helped him put on his pajamas. She could tell that he was still uncomfortable in these new surroundings. He'd barely spoken since their short conversation with Will and Deanna in the transporter room. And he was tired. He'd started to yawn halfway through his bath, and now, as they sat at the dining table, he could barely keep his eyes open. He allowed her to spoon feed him the rest of his soup.

"That's good, Jean-Luc," she whispered, wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

He looked at her and sighed. "Tired."

"I know. Let's get you in bed." She helped him up from the table, and, taking him by the arm, she led him into the bedroom.

She pulled back the blankets, and he climbed into bed, settled his head on the pillow. Alexander sat on the shelf behind him and his green blanket was folded at the foot of the bed. She handed it to him.

He wrapped his arm around it, held one corner of it next to his cheek. "Read," he murmured.

She smoothed her hand over his forehead, smiled down at him. "I think it's too late for a story. How about a song?"

He nodded and closed his eyes. And she sang to him, her soft voice lulling him to sleep.

~vVv~

Beverly had requested that another bed be moved into their quarters. It was situated in the corner next to the dining table. After Jean-Luc had gone to sleep, she'd taken a long hot bath, then turned in herself.

But she was awake now. And she wasn't sure why. Wasn't sure what time it was, or how long she'd been asleep. She sat up in bed and listened. No sounds from the next room. But still, she had to be sure he was all right.

She got up and moved silently across the darkened room, lit only by the stars outside the viewports - the stars Jean-Luc had taken little notice of that afternoon.

She stopped in the bedroom doorway and was surprised to find him awake. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his blanket pulled around his shoulders. And he was rocking, rhythmically, back and forth. He didn't realize she was there until she spoke his name.

"Jean-Luc?" she said softly.

He jumped at the sound of her voice, startled by her sudden presence in the darkened room. He hugged his blanket closer around him and looked up, chewing nervously on his lower lip.

"Jean-Luc, are you all right?" Beverly crossed the room and sat down beside him.

He lowered his gaze and increased his rocking movement, faster and more concentrated. "I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Beverly placed her hand on his arm. "Jean-Luc, why are you sorry? What's wrong?" She glanced around the room. Nothing seemed out of place.

"I...I..." He drew in a deep, uneven breath, and let it out slowly.

Beverly moved her hand to his back, rubbed softly over his shoulders. "Jean-Luc, what is it?"

"I..." He closed his eyes, and she felt his whole body stiffen. "I... wet the bed," he gasped.

Even in the dim light, Beverly could see his face flush with embarrassment.

She let out a soft sigh of relief. "That's all right," she reassured him, realizing that this was the first time he'd done this since before his session with Spock. Thankfully, he didn't remember the countless other times. "It happens sometimes. You've just had a very exciting day. And I don't think your system is quite used to it," she added, her hand still rubbing his back. She looked down at the rumpled sheets and then at his clothing "Let's get you into some more pajamas, and then I'll change the bed."

Jean-Luc nodded and scrubbed the back of his hand over his eyes. "I'm sorry," he mumbled again. "I didn't mean to."

"Of course, you didn't. There's no need to be worried. I'm not upset with you."

He finally looked up at her, his eyes still bright with shameful tears. "You're not?"

Beverly touched her fingers to his cheek, wiped gently at the wet tears. "No, Jean-Luc. I love you." She leaned forward and softly kissed his forehead. "Now, let's get you changed."

Ten minutes later, the sheets on the bed had been replaced, and Jean-Luc, clad in a fresh pair of pajamas, was snuggled warmly underneath them. Beverly sat on the edge of the bed holding his hand in both of hers. "You know something else," she said quietly, looking around. "This is a new room for you, a new bed, and it feels different, doesn't it?"

Jean-Luc smiled shyly up at her and nodded his head. "Yeah, but I like it here," he whispered.

Beverly smiled back at him. "So do I," she agreed. "So do I."

~vVv~

"Deanna will stay with you while I'm at work."

"No. "

"I'll just be there for a few hours."

"No. "

"You remember Deanna."

Jean-Luc jumped up from the table, pushing his half-eaten breakfast away from him, upsetting his glass of milk. "No!" he shouted, then turned away from Beverly, tears beginning to stream down his cheeks. He started toward his bedroom, and then stopped, collapsed onto the carpeted floor, head bent over, shoulders shaking with each sob. "No," he wailed again, "don't... go. Don't... leave... me."

Beverly sat for a moment, debating whether or not to go to him. Deciding against it, she stood and began to mop up the spilled milk, her own tears stinging her eyes. _Don't cry over spilled milk,_ she found herself thinking as Jean-Luc's crying grew louder.

The door chime sounded. She knew it was Deanna, and she left the table and crossed to the door, activated it, and stood there as it slid open and the counselor entered. The door closed quietly behind her.

"I take it he's not too thrilled with the idea," Deanna said, having to speak louder to be heard over Jean-Luc.

"No," Beverly concurred, turning her gaze toward the man sitting in the middle of the cabin. "Deanna, maybe I shouldn't go. After all, this is his first day back."

"Beverly, we've already discussed this. It's best to start new routines, while at the same time re-establishing the old ones. You going to work in the mornings is going to be a new routine for a while, but he will get used to it." Deanna laid a hand on Beverly's shoulder. "And you'll get used to it, too." She noted that the doctor was already wearing her familiar blue medical jacket. "Now, do you want to say goodbye to him before you leave?"

Beverly sighed, knowing that Deanna was right. They had to begin new routines. And besides, her returning to work was one of the reasons why they'd come back to the Enterprise.

She walked over to Jean-Luc and knelt beside him. He was still crying, though the intensity of his sobs had lessened. She wrapped an arm gently around his shoulders. "Jean-Luc, Deanna's here. I'm going to go now."

"No," he mumbled, turning his body toward her, his head pushing against her shoulder, his hand grasping at strands of her hair. "Don't... leave me."

Beverly held on to him, one hand softly stroking the back of his head. "I'll be back in a few hours. You and Deanna can talk. Or maybe she'll read to you. Would you like that?"

He shook his head. "Want you," he snuffled.

Beverly drew in a deep breath, and carefully untangled his fingers from her hair. "I'll be back, Jean-Luc." She kissed the top of his head. "I love you." She pulled away from him and got to her feet quickly. He lunged toward her, but she stepped back.

Deanna took her place on the floor, her arms encircling Jean-Luc even though he struggled against her. "Go, Beverly. He'll be all right."

He began to cry again, one hand pushing Deanna away, the other reaching out to Beverly. His eyes pleaded with her. But she turned around and hurried out the door.

Once in the corridor, Beverly stopped, leaned against the wall. She'd left him. And she'd promised never to leave him again. And still, she'd left him.

~vVv~


	47. Chapter 47

She was gone. He knew she was. He'd watched her go, the door closing behind her. She was gone, and she'd left him. Alone with this other woman who was trying to hold him, to comfort him. He pushed roughly against her. He didn't want her; he wanted Beverly.

"Shh, Jean-Luc, it's all right." Deanna struggled to wrap her arms around him, but he pulled back, pushed himself across the floor to get away from her.

His back ran up against the side of a chair and he couldn't move; tears clouded his eyesight. He couldn't breathe, couldn't stop crying. Turning his head, he buried it against the cushioned chair and continued to sob uncontrollably.

Deanna sighed and got up from the floor, looking around for something to give him, something familiar. She went into the bedroom and returned with Jean-Luc's blanket and an armful of books. She knelt on the floor several feet away from him.

"Jean-Luc," she spoke his name softly.

He was still crying, but he heard her and lifted his head, looked at her. He scrubbed the back of his hand over his eyes, saw what she was holding. "Mine," he said loudly.

Deanna put the blanket and the books on the floor. "I know they're yours," she assured him. "I thought you might want them." She stood and backed away, sat down on the sofa.

Jean-Luc watched her warily, then leaned way over and grabbed the corner of his blanket, pulled it to him. "Mine," he repeated, folding the blanket under his arm. He leaned his head back against the chair, stared over at Deanna.

"Beverly told me it was yours," she commented.

"Beverly?" He glanced toward the door. She was gone. She'd said she would never leave him, but she was gone. And this other woman was here.

"Jean-Luc?"

He looked back at her.

"I'm Deanna. You saw me yesterday in the transporter room with Will. Do you remember?"

He shook his head. "No."

"You came on to the ship with Beverly, and Will and I met you."

Jean-Luc rubbed his cheek. "Will."

Deanna smiled, realizing that he was remembering Will's beard. She rubbed her own cheek. "That's right. Will."

Jean-Luc continued to rub his cheek and sighed. "Beverly?"

"She went to work, Jean-Luc. She's in Sickbay right now."

He nodded, smiled slightly. "Doctor."

"Yes. Beverly's a doctor."

"At work?"

"Yes. Beverly is at work." Deanna knew that he needed constant reassurance. "But she'll be back soon." She sensed his uncertainty. "She didn't leave you, Jean-Luc. She will come back."

He sighed again and reached over to pick up one of his books.

"Would you like me to read to you?" Deanna offered.

Jean-Luc thrust the book in her direction. "Read," he said, his voice shaking slightly.

Deanna slid off the edge of her chair. "Can I come and sit next to you?"

Hesitantly, Jean-Luc nodded his head in affirmation. Deanna crawled over next to him and sat down, her back now leaning against the chair beside him. She took the book out of his hands and opened it.

"Oh, these are Greek myths," she commented, turning the pages. "Do you like the stories about the gods and goddesses?"

Jean-Luc nodded. "They live in the sky," he whispered, staring at the pictures.

"Yes, they do," Deanna said, wondering if Jean-Luc would make the apparent connection.

And he did. "We live in the sky," he added.

She smiled. "That's right."

"But... we're not... not gods."

"No, we're not," Deanna agreed with his reasoning. "In fact, we're not even Greek."

"French," Jean-Luc said softly.

Deanna laughed. "Yes, you are French, and I'm Betazoid."

Jean-Luc didn't seem to be listening now. He reached out and touched one of the pages. "Read," he insisted.

"All right." And she began with the beginning. Mother Earth and Father Sky. Gaea and Uranus. And Jean-Luc listened, mesmerized by the words, enchanted by the pictures, his fingers tracing over the images every time Deanna turned a page.

After a half hour of reading, Deanna wasn't sure if Jean-Luc was even aware that his head now rested on her shoulder. But she was aware of it. Very aware of the warmth of his body against her arm, the weight of his head, the sound of his gentle, relaxed breathing. And she was relieved. He would be able to accept her presence on a tactile, physical level before he could accept her on a conscious one.

"Well, now," she announced when she finished a story about Zeus and Hera, "I've read for a long time. Why don't you read to me for a while?"

She felt his body stiffen next to her, and he raised his head and looked away from the book, his eyes staring at the carpet on the other side of him.

"Jean-Luc?"

He twisted his blanket in his arms, fingers clenching and unclenching the material nervously. "I... I can't read," he mumbled.

Deanna had expected this response. "When's the last time you tried?" she persisted.

Jean-Luc shook his head. "Beverly reads. And... Wes... Wesley reads. But... I don't."

Deanna reached out and placed a hand on the back of Jean-Luc's neck, was pleased when he didn't pull away. "So, you listen?"

"Uh-huh."

"You know something, Jean-Luc, I think you can read."

Jean-Luc slowly turned his face back to her, his eyes questioning. And Deanna could feel that he was frightened and excited. A part of him believed her, believed that he could make the letters and words make sense. There was something familiar about them... But still, Beverly read, and Wesley read, and now, Deanna read, but he didn't. He listened.

"Here," Deanna closed the mythology book and set it aside, "let's start with an easy one." She rummaged through the pile of books and found what she was hoping to find. "This one looks good." She opened it.

Jean-Luc leaned closer. He knew this one.

"I'll point to a word and read it, and then you can say it," she explained. "All right?"

"Yeah," Jean-Luc said, even though he still wasn't sure about this.

Deanna put her finger on the first word. "Once," she began, and then looked over at Jean-Luc.

"Once," he repeated.

"Look at the words, Jean-Luc," she instructed before moving her finger to the next word.

He focused his eyes on the page.

"Upon."

"Upon."

"A."

"A. "

"Time."

"Time."

Jean-Luc sighed. They all started like that in this book.

"There."

"There."

And so, they continued, one word at a time. And at first, it made no sense to Jean-Luc. But then Deanna pointed to a word, and before she said it, he blurted it out.

"And," he said quickly, recognizing the shape of it.

"Very good, Jean-Luc." Deanna smiled over at him. "See there, I knew you could read."

By the time they got to the last page of "Goldilocks and the Three Bears," Jean-Luc was reading most of the words on his own. And when he said "the end," he allowed his head to drop back on to Deanna's shoulder.

"Tired," he murmured.

"I'm not surprised," she whispered, rubbing her hand against his cheek. "You did a wonderful job of reading. Why don't we let that be your bedtime story?" she suggested, realizing that a morning nap would probably be a good idea.

But he resisted. "No. Don't wanna get in bed."

"You don't have to get in bed." Deanna gently pulled his body down until his head was resting in her lap. "You can sleep right here."

Her fingers continued to smooth over his cheek and forehead.

With a contented smile, Jean-Luc's eyes closed. And within minutes, he was asleep.

~vVv~

An hour later, Deanna was beginning to feel stiff and uncomfortable. And even though she was pleased that Jean-Luc was sleeping peacefully, she was relieved when the cabin door slid open and Beverly entered.

Although the door made very little noise, the movement was enough to wake Jean-Luc. He shifted and groaned slightly, then opened his eyes, immediately saw the woman who stood over them.

"Beverly!" He sat up, and she knelt beside him, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, held him close. He clung to her. She'd left. But she'd come back. She said she would come back, and she did.

"I've missed you, Jean-Luc," Beverly said as she hugged him tighter.

"Missed you," he echoed.

She pulled away slightly and shifted her gaze toward Deanna, who was sitting next to them. "Did you and Deanna have a good time?"

A broad smile formed on Jean-Luc's face. "I can read."

Beverly's eyes clouded with confusion. "What?"

Jean-Luc shook his head up and down. "I can read." He pulled on Beverly's arm and made her sit beside him. He looked for the book. Deanna placed it in his hands. "You... listen." And he began to read out loud.

Beverly stared at him for a few seconds, and then over at Deanna.

"I'll explain later," the counselor whispered, getting up to leave.

Jean-Luc barely noticed that she'd gone, after all, the porridge was too hot and baby bear had burned his tongue.

~vVv~


	48. Chapter 48

"How did you teach him to read so quickly?" Beverly asked.

It was later in the day, and Jean-Luc was taking another of his many naps. Deanna sat across the table from the doctor, a cup of tea in her hand.

She took a sip, and then responded. "I didn't actually teach him to read. I just allowed his mind to recognize something it already knew."

Beverly frowned, confused by her answer. "But he already knows you, and yet he can't remember your name. He still can't dress himself, or take a bath on his own. Those are things he's always known. Why can't he recognize how to do them now?"

"I'm not sure. It could merely be symptomatic of the brain damage, or..."

"Or what?"

Deanna was uncomfortable with the topic she was about to broach, but she forged ahead. "Or, perhaps he knows you'll do those things for him."

Beverly's eyes hardened. "Are you saying I'm doing too much for him?"

"No, Beverly, but when I asked Jean-Luc to read to me this morning, do you know what he said?"

"What?"

"He said: Beverly reads, and Wesley reads. And he just-"

"Listens," Beverly finished her sentence. With a heavy sigh, she reached out and placed her own teacup on the table. "I've been so busy taking care of him, that I haven't thought of all the things that he might be able to do for himself."

Deanna nodded. "And what we think may be too difficult for him, might not be so difficult to Jean-Luc."

"I do try, Deanna," Beverly explained. "You don't know how many mornings I've tried to get him to dress himself. We struggle with his shirt and his trousers until one or the other of us is almost in tears."

"But in the end, you do dress him, don't you?"

"He can't wear the same clothes forever."

"Why not?"

"Deanna!"

Deanna held up her hand to stem the doctor's protest. "Now, wait, Beverly, hear me out. I have a plan that just might work."

~vVv~

Beverly was asleep. He sat cross-legged on the floor next to her bed watching her. Golden red strands of hair fell across her face, and they moved slightly every time she exhaled a breath. He smiled at the fluttering movement. He liked watching Beverly. Liked knowing that she was here, with him, and not somewhere else. He belonged to her. And that felt good and safe.

He wanted her to wake up. It was lonely in the cabin without her. He'd been awake for a long time. He'd gone to the bathroom, and then sat in bed and read his books. He still had trouble recognizing some of the words, but he knew a lot of them.

He was tired of reading now. He knew all those stories. Maybe the woman with the dark hair would bring him some new books. He wondered if she were coming today. He thought she probably would be. Beverly had to go to work. But she'd come back.

Right now, though, he just wanted her to open her eyes. He sighed. He liked Beverly's eyes. They were the color of her doctor jacket, the color of the sky. Well, the color of the sky in San Francisco, where Wesley was. The sky out here was black. With stars. He liked the stars. He looked up above Beverly's bed, out the window. No, viewport. That's what she called it. A viewport. The stars were always there. Sometimes there were a lot of them, and sometimes not so many. Sometimes they just looked like streaks of color.

He lowered his eyes back to Beverly. He wished her bed was bigger, like the one back home. Back at their old home. And the other one, the one in France. He used to climb into bed with her. But this bed was too small. His bed wasn't. His bed would be big enough for both of them. But Beverly never slept with him in his bed, except for sometimes when he had bad dreams, and she would lie down with him until he fell back to sleep.

She moved, and he held his breath. She moved again, and her eyes opened. He smiled, and she smiled back.

"Good morning," she murmured. "You're up early."

"You get up," he insisted.

Beverly yawned and rolled from her side to her back, stretched her arms above her head.

"Get up," Jean-Luc prodded again.

"I am. Give me a second." Beverly pushed herself up to a sitting position, and then shifted her gaze down to Jean-Luc. "I'll bet you're hungry."

For some reason, ever since they'd been back on the ship, Jean-Luc had been reluctant to use the replicator, although he'd used it at the house in San Francisco. Beverly hadn't figured that one out yet.

She pushed back the blankets and swung her legs off the bed. She groaned inwardly when she remembered Deanna's plan. She had a feeling that the day was going to be a long one. For all of them.

"If you want something to eat, Jean-Luc, I'm afraid you'll have to get it yourself." She stood up. "I've got to get dressed or I'm going to be late for work."

Jean-Luc looked up at her from where he still sat on the floor. "I... can't."

Beverly headed for the bedroom. "Sure you can. And afterwards you can change out of your pajamas." She didn't look back, but she could imagine the expression on his face: eyes wide, mouth slightly open, forehead beginning to wrinkle with concern.

Jean-Luc pushed himself to his feet and followed her. He stopped in the doorway. Beverly had gone into the bathroom. He could hear the water running. He waited.

After several minutes, she came out, and removed her uniform from the closet where she kept it. It was beside another uniform, his uniform, she'd told him. But he didn't wear it. She never helped him put it on. And Beverly always helped him with his clothes. And she almost always got him dressed before she dressed herself. But not today. He watched as she changed out of her own pajamas into her blue and black uniform. Then, taking her boots, she sat on the edge of his bed and pulled them on.

Jean-Luc walked slowly over to the closet and took out her jacket, but instead of giving it to her, he wrapped his arms around it, and held it to his chest.

"Jean-Luc, I'm going to need that," she reminded him as she got up from the bed and walked into the next room.

He trailed after her, his confusion growing.

"What about me?" he asked, standing in the middle of the main living area.

"What about you?" Beverly returned, then spoke to the replicator. "Lemon tea," she instructed. The steaming beverage appeared and she picked it up, took a long sip.

Then, turning around, she took a good look at Jean-Luc over the rim of the teacup. He was frightened. She could tell. The way he was standing, the way he clutched her jacket. The tears that were gathering in his eyes.

Beverly returned the cup to the replicator, took a deep breath, and was thankful that the door chime sounded at that moment. A few seconds longer, and she would have destroyed the plan by wrapping her arms around Jean-Luc and taking care of him, instead of forcing him to begin to take care of himself.

"That'll be Deanna," she explained, stepping over and pulling her jacket out of Jean-Luc's grasp. "Come in," she invited as she pushed her arms into the jacket sleeves.

The door slid open and Deanna entered. Even though Jean-Luc was confused by Beverly's behavior, he did notice that Deanna was carrying a stack of books.

"Good morning," she smiled, setting the books on the desk.

"I'm glad you're here," Beverly sighed. "I've got a busy morning." She reached over and pressed her hand against Jean-Luc's cheek, gently kissed him on the other one. "I'll see you later." She pulled away and looked into his eyes, still damp with unshed tears. "I will be back," she promised.

And then she was gone. Again. And Jean-Luc was left with... He stared at the woman. He'd forgotten her name already. He felt the tears in his eyes begin to drip onto his cheeks, and he reached up and scrubbed his hand over his face. He was hungry, and frustrated, and still in his pajamas. He didn't like that. He wanted his real clothes. Maybe his green shirt. But Beverly knew where it was, he didn't.

Deanna walked further into the room. "Beverly was in a hurry this morning, wasn't she?" she asked, studying Jean-Luc's reaction.

He nodded solemnly. "I'm... hungry," he murmured.

"Would you like me to show you how to use the replicator?" Deanna stepped over to the wall unit.

Slowly, Jean-Luc joined her.

"All you have to do is tell the computer what you want," Deanna said. "Now, what do you want for breakfast?"

He thought for a moment and then answered. "Toast."

"Then stand close to the replicator and say 'toast.'"

Jean-Luc's eyes narrowed. He remembered doing something like this at the old house, but it seemed different here. Still, taking a step closer to the wall, he hesitantly gave it a try. "Toast."

"Please specify type of bread," the electronic voice responded.

Jean-Luc blinked in surprise, looked over at the woman, unsure of what the voice had said.

Deanna smiled reassuringly. "Do you like white bread or brown bread, Jean-Luc?" she asked, deciding to keep things simple and not branch out into different varieties such as rye or pumpernickel.

Jean-Luc thought hard. He understood what she was asking. He knew colors. Even colors of food. "Brown," he answered.

"Please specify number of pieces."

Jean-Luc smiled. He knew how to answer this one. "Two." Beverly always let him have two, both with... "With butter and strawberry jam," he added.

Deanna patted his shoulder as the plate of toast appeared. "Very good, Jean-Luc. Is that all you want?"

Jean-Luc frowned. He wanted her to talk to the computer. Even though he was able to get his toast, he didn't know what else to say. "You," he whispered.

"Oh, no, I've already had breakfast," Deanna explained, even though she knew he wasn't inviting her to eat with him. He wanted her to do the ordering, and she wasn't about to do it for him. The toast would be enough for a while. "Now, you take your plate over to the table and eat your toast." Deanna crossed over to the sofa and sat down. "I know Beverly's busy in Sickbay this morning, but after you finish breakfast, you can get dressed and maybe we'll go visit her anyway."

Jean-Luc had picked up the plate of toast, but he almost dropped it when he heard the woman's suggestion. Go visit Beverly. In Sickbay. After he... got dressed. Her words fully registered. She wanted him to get dressed. On his own. Like Beverly had said earlier. He reached the table and slammed the plate on to it. "I can't," he exclaimed loudly.

Deanna remained calm. "Can't what?"

Jean-Luc stood by the table, his shoulders hunched. "Get... dressed."

"Really? Yesterday you told me you couldn't read, but you can."

Jean-Luc didn't know what to say. She was right. He could read. But getting dressed was different. Beverly always helped him. She picked out his clothes and helped him take off his pajamas. And when he was dressed, she would brush his hair.

"Finish your toast," Deanna reminded him. "And then you can give it a try."

Jean-Luc sat down heavily at the table. Suddenly, he wasn't very hungry anymore. He stared at the two pieces of toast. He wanted to go see Beverly. He wanted to know what Sickbay looked like. A part of his mind thought that it knew, just images, but he wanted to see for sure. But he couldn't get dressed by himself. His arms always got tangled in the sleeves, and the hook on his trousers was too small. And even if he did try, he didn't want the woman to be here. She wasn't Beverly.

"Jean-Luc, are you going to eat?" Deanna asked.

Jean-Luc looked up from the plate. "I'm... not hungry."

"Well, then," Deanna rose from the sofa, "I'll just go lay some clothes out for you." She disappeared into the bedroom.

Jean-Luc left the table and followed her over to the doorway. He stood there and watched the woman in his room, opening drawers, taking out his blue shirt and tan trousers.

"Green," he murmured.

Deanna glanced over at him. "Green what?"

He licked his lips nervously. "Shirt."

"All right." Deanna replaced the blue one and took out his green one, held it up. "This one?"

He nodded.

Deanna stepped over to the bed and laid the clothing on it. "There." She looked up at him and smiled. "You work on putting these on, and I'll be back in a little while."

She walked past him into the living area and sat down on the sofa again.

Jean-Luc continued to stand there, frozen between the two rooms.

"Go on, Jean-Luc," Deanna prodded gently, "just try. Call me if you need any help."

He frowned. He didn't need her help. He needed Beverly. But if he got dressed, then they would go see her. In Sickbay. Slowly, he walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge of it. First, he had to take off his pajamas. He stared down at them, grey loose fitting shirt and shorts. Beverly had been in such a hurry that she hadn't even helped him with his robe. It still lay draped over the chair in the corner. Maybe, if he managed to put on the robe, he could still go to sickbay. Maybe...

No. He had to take off his pajamas and put on the clothes that had been laid out for him. He closed his fingers around the hem of his pajama top. Somehow he had to pull the shirt up over his head and off his arms. Usually, all he had to do was hold up his arms and Beverly would pull off the shirt. Maybe if he held on to the shirt and then put up his arms… He tried it. The shirt covered his face. He pulled on it again and it slid up over his head. With a shake of his arms, he removed it completely and let it drop to the bed.

He felt a smile cross his face, and he realized that all he had to do with his green shirt was the opposite. Well, almost the opposite. He did have to get his arms in the right sleeves. Luckily his green shirt was very loose around the neck, so that all he'd have to do was slip it on over his head. There were no buttons or hooks or ties.

He picked up the shirt and reached inside of it, hands feeling for the correct sleeves. He tried putting it over his head, but then his elbows would get caught and he couldn't pull it down. He removed his arms, and put it over his head again. This time it went on around his neck, but when he tried to put his arms in, he found that he couldn't get them to fit. He pushed and pulled and struggled for long minutes, what felt like an eternity to him. Every thwarted effort brought him a little closer to tears, and finally, in complete frustration, he threw the shirt across the room and collapsed face first onto his bed, crying loudly.

Deanna, who had sensed his growing frustration, wasn't surprised when she heard the sobs emanating from his room. Steeling herself for the next step in the plan, she got up and went into the bedroom.

"Jean-Luc," she said softly, seeing the shirt on the floor and picking it up.

His bare shoulders stiffened at the sound of her voice. He gulped. "Go away," he mumbled. He didn't want her here. Didn't want her help. He wanted Beverly.

"Jean-Luc," she said again, sitting down on the bed beside him.

He scooted away from her, towards the head of the bed, his hand reaching out blindly for his blanket. Touching a corner of it, he closed his fingers around the fabric, pulled it up underneath him. He'd stopped crying, but he didn't turn over or look up.

"I know Beverly would love a surprise visit from you. All you have to do is get dressed first." She drew the green shirt through her hands. The material was soft and silky, and she understood why it was probably his favorite.

"I can't" he protested.

Deanna sighed quietly. She'd known this wouldn't be easy. She hated seeing him hurt, feeling his pain and frustration. She knew he was mad at her. But, more than that, he was mad at himself. He needed time to work through the anger.

She placed the shirt on the bed. "Your shirt is right here when you're ready to try again." And she stood up and left the room.

Jean-Luc didn't try again, at least not that morning. When Beverly came back from work at lunchtime, she found him asleep in his pajama shorts on top of the bed.

"Deanna, I can't leave him like this for the rest of the day," she said quietly, standing in the bedroom doorway with the counselor. "He'll get chilled."

Deanna shook her head. "No, he won't. I've already raised the temperature in here."

Beverly frowned slightly. She had noticed that the cabin was warmer.

"You may get a little hot," Deanna continued, "but he'll be fine."

"What if he doesn't try again?"

"He will. Deep down, he's still Captain Jean-Luc Picard, and there's something about being... uncovered for a long period of time that he won't like." Deanna smiled faintly at the doctor. "Even with you."

Beverly sighed. "Well, that remains to be seen."

~vVv~


	49. Chapter 49

When Jean-Luc awoke and realized that Beverly was back, he immediately brought his shirt to her, fully expecting her to dress him. He held it out to her.

"You can put it on if you want to," she said as she went about setting the table for a late lunch.

"You do it," he insisted.

"Jean-Luc," Beverly set a plate on the table, then reached out and gently took hold of his arms, her eyes gazing into his, "I'd like to help, but I've helped enough. You know I love you, and I'll be here for you always, but I've already done _too much_," she stressed the final words, hoping he understood.

Jean-Luc grimaced, his mouth twisting into a hard, straight line. She wasn't going to help him. Not anymore. He suddenly felt very alone, even with Beverly standing right in front of him. He pulled away from her grasp and went back into his bedroom. When she called him for lunch a few minutes later, he said he wasn't hungry.

It was a long afternoon. Beverly sat at the desk, working on computer files. And Jean-Luc, who had eventually emerged from the bedroom, was seated on the sofa looking at the new books Deanna had brought early that morning. He felt very uncomfortable half dressed in his pajama shorts, but he hadn't tried putting the shirt on again. It lay on the floor next to his bed, seemingly taunting him every time he walked by it.

When Beverly looked up from the computer some hours later and announced that it was bath time, Jean-Luc tensed. Usually, he liked taking a bath, but if he took his pajama shorts off to get in the tub, would she help him put them back on afterwards?

"Come on, Jean-Luc," she insisted, taking him by the hand and pulling him up off the sofa. Sensing his unease, she assuaged his fear. "After your bath, I'll help you put on some more pajama shorts, all right?"

He nodded, allowing her to lead him into the other room. She would help with his shorts, but she'd said nothing about a shirt. "You'll dress me?" he murmured.

"Just the shorts. You're still responsible for a shirt."

"Beverly," he pulled on her hand, but she held on to him firmly. "I can't… "

"Don't say you can't. You just haven't tried enough. I know it's not easy. But nothing worthwhile ever is."

She ran the bath water, then helped him out of his pajama shorts and into the tub. Usually, she would sit with him while he relaxed in the warm water for several minutes, then she would efficiently run a soapy bath cloth over his body, rinse him, help him out of the tub, and dry him off. But this time she handed him the soap and cloth and told him to do it himself. And then she left him there, in the tub, alone. She'd never done that. Never left him. Jean-Luc sat staring at the items in hands, and then with determination, he scrubbed the soap against the cloth and slowly began to slide the cloth over his arms and legs. A few minutes later, he caught sight of Beverly looking in at the open doorway. And she was smiling.

After a while, she came back and helped him out. "You did a very good job of taking a bath, Jean-Luc."

He grinned as she rubbed him down with a large towel. "I know." He took the towel out of her hands and wrapped it around his waist.

She went into the bedroom and he followed, his feet making wet prints on the carpeted deck. He stood in the middle of the room and watched her take a pair of pajamas out of the drawer. They were his blue ones. A lot like the grey ones, only the shirt tied in the front. She threw the shirt on the bed and brought him the shorts.

"I'll help with these," she said, holding the shorts out in front of her.

Jean-Luc allowed the towel to fall to the floor, and, placing a hand on Beverly's shoulder to steady himself, he stepped into the shorts, first one foot, then the other. She pulled them up and settled them around him waist and hips.

"Now," she motioned towards the bed, "you can try putting on that shirt."

Jean-Luc moved slowly to the bed and reached down, picked up the pajama shirt. He realized that since it tied in the front, he didn't have to worry about getting it over his head.

"I'll make a deal with you," Beverly continued. "You put on the shirt, and I'll tie it for you. Come in the next room when you're ready; I've got to see about making us some supper."

Jean-Luc stood there, holding the shirt to his chest as she left the room. And when she was gone, he immediately found one sleeve and stuck his arm into it. Straining the other arm around his back, he managed to find the other sleeve. And then, it was on. He went over and stared into the mirror above the dresser. It was on. Not tied, but on. And the right way.

Quite pleased with himself, he sauntered into the living area. Beverly met him halfway across the room, her hands reaching out and taking hold of the loose ties.

"I knew you could do it." She kissed him gently on the forehead. "Now, watch while I tie it, and you can try tying it tomorrow night."

Jean-Luc started to protest, but stopped himself. He would try tomorrow night.

He smiled into Beverly's blue eyes. "All right," he promised. He knew, at that moment, that he would do anything for her.

~vVv~


	50. Chapter 50

By the end of the week, dressing himself became second nature to Jean-Luc. Even the buttoning, tying, and hooking of trousers was getting easier, although he still needed Beverly's help sometimes - usually when he was overly tired or upset.

Beverly was amazed at how he changed from day to day. He was gaining in both confidence and ability. He was already reading some adult level books, although he still held on to the old familiar ones as well. Deanna was re-teaching him how to write and work on the computer, and some mornings they would go to the holodeck. Deanna would program different areas of the ship so that Jean-Luc could grow accustomed to them without having to worry about well-meaning, but curious, crew members.

Slowly, Beverly had increased the time she spent at work. She still came back to their quarters for lunch, but after tucking Jean-Luc in for an afternoon nap, she would usually return to sickbay. Deanna stayed with him most of the time while Beverly was away, but they had begun to reintroduce him to some other members of the crew. Will came by often, and so did Guinan. Jean-Luc liked them both, and was fairly content to spend an afternoon with either of them. Sometimes, Will would take him to the Curtis Creek program on the holodeck, and Guinan helped him remember how to play chess.

They were all pleased with his progress, though none of them really knew how far he could go or how much of the old Jean-Luc Picard would come back.

Beverly wrote in her journal every night. She was keeping a record of Jean-Luc's recovery. It was partly for medical reasons, but mostly it was personal: her thoughts, and fears - her observations, little incidents when she saw Jean-Luc's personality shining through the haze of confusion. It was therapeutic to put her feelings into words. At least, that's what Deanna had said. Beverly smiled. The counselor was right, as usual.

With a tired sigh, Beverly switched off the computer and glanced at the chronometer on the desk. She was surprised to see that it was almost 2300 hours. She looked toward the bedroom and saw that the light was still on. Pushing herself away from the desk, she got up, silently chiding herself for letting him stay up this late.

She stopped in the bedroom doorway, and stood there for several moments watching him. He was sitting in bed, an open book propped against his drawn up knees. Even from a distance, she could see his eyes intensely scanning the pages, his lips moving slightly. Such concentration, such effort, she thought, remembering what a pleasure reading had always been for him, those nights he'd fallen asleep with an old book on his chest. And now...

Jean-Luc frowned and yawned, rubbed his eyes with his fingers. It was much too late for him. Way past his bedtime. But still, he continued to read. Or tried to.

Beverly cleared her throat. "You're supposed to be sleeping."

He jumped, surprised at the sound of her voice. He lifted his eyes from the book. "I was reading," he said quietly.

"I can see that," she replied as she walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed. Gently, she ran her hand along his arm.

He blinked, swallowed nervously. "She... That..." He sighed as if he were exhausted. _He probably is._ "That woman gave it to me." He indicated the book in his lap.

_That woman?_ "Deanna?"

He gave her an embarrassed smile, his cheeks blushing slightly. "Yes. Deanna." He said the name firmly as if he were trying to commit it to memory. There were still some things that he had great difficulty remembering.

Beverly closed the book and turned it toward her so that she could read the title. "Ah. _A Midsummer Night's Dream_." She stared into is eyes. "How do you like it?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I can read the words, but... I don't understand them."

Beverly felt her body tense, and she forced herself to relax. "That's all right. Shakespeare takes a while to get used to." She gave him a reassuring pat on the knee. "Just keep reading it. It'll make more sense."

He started to open the book again, but she stopped him. "Not tonight. You need your sleep." She took it out of his hands and laid it on the bedside table.

He rolled his eyes at her. "You always say that."

"That's because I always mean it."

She stood up and reached for the blankets at the end of the bed. "Now, under the covers," she instructed, and Jean-Luc slid down until his head rested on the pillow. She pulled the blankets up over him. "There." She smoothed the antique quilt over his chest, tucked it around his shoulders, made sure that he had his green blanket. "You get some rest," she whispered, leaning over and kissing him on the forehead. She brushed her hand against his cheek. "I'll be in the next room if you need anything." She turned to go, but he stopped her.

"Beverly?"

She looked back.

"Don't leave."

She smiled softly. "I'll just be right next door."

Jean-Luc pushed himself up in bed slightly, and stared at her, his green eyes fastened securely to her blue ones. "We're married." His voice was calm, firm, but she could see that he was trembling. She was suddenly trembling, too.

She took a step back toward the bed. "Yes, Jean-Luc, we are." She drew in a deep breath. "Do you remember?"

He nodded, the expression on his face confused. "I'm not sure. I just..." He swallowed deeply. "I just knew."

She could see tears fill his eyes, and she went and sat beside him, took one of his large hands in hers. "I didn't think I should tell you until you remembered it on your own."

"You're... my... wife," he said slowly, as if each word were foreign to him, and yet at the same time familiar.

"And you're my husband." She held his hand to her cheek. "I love you, Jean-Luc."

"Please... don't leave me," he whispered. And with his other hand he drew back the blankets.

Beverly hesitated for a moment, and then, without shedding her uniform or boots, she climbed into bed beside him, curled her body around his, and held him until they both fell asleep.

~vVv~

Sometime in the night, they had reversed positions. Instead of Beverly's body curled around Jean-Luc, he was now curled around her, his warm, solid chest pressed against her back, his arms enfolding her. His face was nuzzled into the nape of her neck, and when Beverly awoke, she felt a dampness there and realized that he'd been crying. She lay very still and quiet for several seconds, listening to his breathing. It was deep, steady and even, and she wasn't sure if the tears had come while he slept. Perhaps they had, brought on by one of his many nightmares.

Slowly, she shifted in his arms, turned over so that she could face him. Her movement caused him to stir, groan slightly, and then open his eyes.

Beverly smoothed her hand along the side of his face. "I didn't mean to wake you," she murmured.

He didn't say anything, just stared at her, a frightened look in his eyes.

She moved closer to him and tenderly kissed each cheek, tasted the saltiness of his tears.

He closed his eyes and pushed his face closer to hers. She felt his lips move and realized he was whispering something, although she couldn't hear what he'd said. She pressed her hand to the back of his head, held him close. He whispered again, and this time she heard.

"Love... you... Beverly."

~vVv~


	51. Chapter 51

"Beverly is your wife?"

"Yes. We got married."

"And do you remember that?"

Jean-Luc looked away from the counselor, studied the floor in front of him.

"Jean-Luc?"

He felt her hand on his knee. She wanted him to look up, but he didn't. She wanted him to answer her question. But he couldn't. No, he could. He just didn't want to. Because he couldn't. He couldn't remember marrying Beverly. But he knew they were married. She was his wife.

"She's my wife," he said again, holding to the knowledge.

Deanna rubbed his knee. "Yes, she is your wife. And don't worry, you'll remember."

He sighed, felt his shoulders relax. Slowly, he looked up at the dark-haired woman. _Deanna._ Her name was Deanna.

"Do you have any questions, Jean-Luc? About you and Beverly?"

He shrugged. He didn't think he had any questions.

"If you don't have any, that's all right," Deanna reassured him when she saw the puzzled look on his face. "Why don't we go to the holodeck for a little while?" she suggested.

He nodded in agreement, although he really wanted to go to Sickbay. All the talk about Beverly made him miss her. Since he'd finally learned to dress himself, they'd been to Sickbay a lot. He liked it there, even if all he did was sit and watch Beverly work. Sometimes the people who came in would talk to him, or look at him funny. It made him feel a little uncomfortable, but that was all right as long as Beverly was there.

"I've got to go to the bathroom before we leave," Deanna was saying as she stood up and headed toward the next room. "I'll just be a minute."

A minute was all it took for Jean-Luc to leave his quarters. He didn't think about how worried Deanna would be when she found him gone. He didn't think about the fact that he'd never gone anywhere by himself. All he thought about was Beverly. And he knew how to find her. He'd been to Sickbay before. He had to get on one of the… turbolifts. Yes, that's what Deanna called them. Turbolifts.

"All right, are you-" Deanna froze as she stepped into the room. Without even looking around, she knew that it was empty. "Troi to Sickbay."

Beverly's voice answered. "Deanna, is everything all right?"

"Beverly, Jean-Luc as left the cabin. I think he may be headed in your direction."

"I see. I'll alert Will and start looking for him from this end." Beverly remained calm, although Deanna detected an edge to her voice.

"And I'll trace over our usual path to Sickbay. Troi out."

~vVv~

Nothing looked familiar. He couldn't find the turbolift, and the empty corridors turned and twisted. Every time he thought he was taking the right turn, it took him nowhere. He felt as if he'd been walking in circles for hours, and he was tired and angry. Mostly at himself. He should never have left the cabin alone. He knew that. And when they found him, he would be in trouble. But that was all right. He just wanted them to find him.

He stopped and pressed his back up against a wall. He didn't know which way to go anymore. All the corridors looked the same.

And he just wanted Beverly.

He felt the tears gathering in his eyes, and he slid down into a sitting position, his fists clenched on top of his knees. Slowly, he began to rock.

"Beverly," he whispered, taking comfort from the sound of her name, the feel of it on his lips. "Beverly."

Tears rolled silently down his cheeks, and it hurt to breathe. He squeezed his eyes closed – and waited.

~vVv~

If he'd been wearing a communicator, they could have found him easily. If they'd been more careful with the security lock on the door, this wouldn't have happened. If she'd been with him, instead of in Sickbay, he wouldn't have left in the first place. Beverly silently chastised herself as she made her way back to their quarters.

Once on Deck Eight, she took a circuitous route, suspecting that he may never have left it. And she was right. She rounded a bend in the corridor, and there he was: sitting on the floor next to the wall, rocking, head buried against his knees. She went and knelt beside him.

"Jean-Luc?" She put her hand on his shoulder, felt him shaking.

He looked up, green eyes clouded with tears. When he realized it was her, he pressed himself into her arms, holding on tightly to the loose fabric of her medical jacket. His crying seemed to increase, tears of relief, perhaps.

Beverly rocked him and murmured soothing words, kissing his cheeks and forehead, hands smoothing along his back and neck. After long minutes, he relaxed and grew quiet.

"Let's go home, Jean-Luc," she said softly, helping him to his feet.

And with his hand in hers, she led him back to their quarters.

~vVv~


	52. Chapter 52

A part of her wanted to yell at him, and shake him, and tell him he could never do that again. Instead, she tucked him into bed and held him until he fell asleep.

When she was sure that he was sleeping soundly, she went into the next room where Deanna was sitting on the sofa.

The counselor looked up. "Beverly, I am so sorry."

Beverly shook her head. "It wasn't your fault, Deanna. Neither of us suspected he would do this." She sat down heavily in an opposite chair. "Although, we should have. He's so much more independent now. "

"Yes, he is," Deanna agreed. "He's come a long way in the past week. His remembering your relationship is a very important step in his recovery. But still..."

Beverly's eyes narrowed with worry. "What?"

Deanna sighed. "His reactions concern me."

"The fact that I found him huddled in the middle of the corridor crying?"

"Yes," Deanna nodded. "He'd only been missing about ten minutes. He's still so easily frustrated, and the more things he remembers, the more confusing it's going to be for him."

"You're saying he needs to be 'tougher' emotionally?"

"I think so. But now that he's rediscovering his relationship with you, he may be able to draw some added strength from that."

"Hopefully we both can," Beverly said, getting up and moving over to the food dispenser. "Would you like something to drink?" she asked.

Deanna smiled. "Tea would be wonderful."

"Two lemon teas, hot." The steaming beverages appeared, and Beverly carried them back over to the sitting area. Handing one cup to Deanna, she sat back down in her chair. Leaning back, she took a long sip of the hot liquid. She hadn't realized how tense she still was until she felt the tea relax her. "You know, Deanna, I thought raising Wesley was difficult at times, but... compared to this..."

Deanna lowered her teacup back to the saucer. "It is very much like bringing up a child, but... he's not a child."

"I know."

Deanna's eyes swept the room and then hesitated on the bed beside the dining table. "Now that he understands that you're married to him, I suppose you won't be needing the extra bed."

Beverly's gaze followed hers. "I hadn't thought about that. But..." She exhaled a long breath. "There are too many things to think about, Deanna. I don't want to move too fast."

"Remember, Beverly, you have to reestablish what is normal as soon as he's ready for it."

Suddenly, frustrated anger flared in Beverly's eyes. "Well, what about me?" she snapped, slamming her cup down on the coffee table. "What about if I'm not ready for it? I haven't..." She lowered her voice, realizing that she was almost yelling. "I haven't slept with him on a regular basis in almost five months. Sometimes, if he as a nightmare, or has trouble falling asleep, I'll lie down with him, but..."

Deanna remained calm at Beverly's outburst. She knew how difficult all of this was for her friend. "You slept together last night."

Beverly stared at Deanna.

"Jean-Luc told me."

The doctor nodded. "He wanted me to."

"And..."

"And I wanted to."

"And that's perfectly all right to want to. He's your husband, Beverly. I know it's been a long time. And I know that a part of you believed that he would never even recover as much as he has already. But he is your husband."

Beverly got up from her chair and began to pace between it and the desk. "I guess, up until now, I didn't... have to think about that side of our relationship. We've been... Well, we've been relating to each other on a totally different level. The fact that one minute he can seem so much like Jean-Luc, and the next..." Her voice hardened. "The next, I find him in the middle of the corridor crying like a baby. Deanna, it's difficult for my emotions to change so quickly. One minute I feel like his wife, and the next... I feel like his mother."

"I understand. But remember, people in relationships play many roles: friend, lover, caregiver. It's all right to be all of those."

"I know. It's just..." Beverly stopped her pacing, her eyes focused on the bedroom doorway.

Deanna shifted her gaze. Jean-Luc was there. "I'm... I'm sorry, Beverly."

Beverly walked over to him, took hold of his hands.

"I'm sorry for leaving the cabin," he murmured.

She smiled softly at him. "I forgive you. But don't do it again. At least, not until Deanna or I show you how to get to Sickbay on your own. "

His eyes brightened. "Really?"

Beverly nodded. "Um-um. After all, I want my husband to be able to visit me anytime he wants."

~vVv~

A few days later, Jean-Luc came to Sickbay. Not by himself, although he'd already begun to learn the way. This time, he came with Will.

"I thought the two of you were going fishing," Beverly said, standing next to the outer door of Sickbay with Will. Beyond the open door of her office, Jean-Luc paced nervously in front of her desk.

Will shrugged. "We were. He seems to like the Curtis Creek program, but today..." He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know; something must have frightened him. He took a few steps into the holodeck, but then stopped and refused to go any further. He kept mumbling something about the trees. And then he insisted that I bring him here."

Beverly sighed, and reached out and patted Will on the arm. "Thanks, Will. I know it's not easy being with him sometimes, but he does appreciate your friendship."

"Hey," Will placed his hand over hers, "I'm just glad I've still got that friendship." He smiled. "If he doesn't want to go fishing, it's perfectly fine with me."

Beverly returned his smile. "I better go see what's bothering him. I'll fill you in later."

Will nodded. "All right." He looked toward her office. "I'm going now, Jean-Luc. I'll see you again soon."

Jean-Luc stopped his pacing long enough to look up, but he didn't respond to the man's words.

Will left, and Beverly joined Jean-Luc in her office. He stood there, looking at her with a bewildered expression on his face.

"I... I didn't... want to go... fishing," he stammered.

"That's all right. You didn't have to."

"Will... Will wanted to."

"But only if you wanted to. He's not upset. You can go fishing another time."

Jean-Luc sank down into one of the chairs in front of the desk. He nervously ran his fingers over his lips. "I... I like... Curtis Creek. I just..." He looked up at Beverly. "The trees..."

She sat in the chair next to his, reached out and took hold of his hands. "What about the trees, Jean-Luc?"

She remembered months before when she'd been upset with Hadrian for subjecting Jean-Luc to drug-induced hypnosis. Although nothing much had been accomplished, the doctor had reported later that Jean-Luc had talked about trees.

In the months following that incident, and even with Spock's mindmeld, Beverly and Deanna had decided to work on Jean-Luc's recovery without forcing him to come to terms with the cause of his trauma. At least, not yet. But if he was ready to talk about it, then she would be receptive.

Jean-Luc hadn't answered her question. She rephrased it. "Did the trees frighten you?"

His eyes darted back and forth, and a fine sheen of perspiration broke out on his forehead. She sensed that his heartbeat and respiration had increased. Gently, she ran her hands along his arms, trying to calm him.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," she assured him.

He shook his head. "I... I can't remember."

"That's all right." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "How would you like to spend the morning with me?"

He smiled and nodded. He would choose to spend every moment with Beverly if they let him, although he knew that sometimes she had a lot of work to do, and it was better if he wasn't there. But she'd asked him to stay. And he wanted to. If he stayed with her, then maybe he would stop thinking about the trees.

~vVv~


	53. Chapter 53

She slept with him now. And he was glad. Some men in gold and black uniforms had come and taken away the other bed. And now there was just his bed. Their bed. _Our bed,_ he thought as he sat cross-legged in the middle of it, watching Beverly prepare for bed. _Beverly._ His wife. _My wife._ He liked the sound of that in his mind, and he silently repeated it over and over. _My wife. My wife. My wife. Is beautiful._ He smiled. It wasn't the first time that he'd realized that she was beautiful. But it was the first time that he'd really seen all of her. Usually, Beverly would take a shower and then change into her nightgown in the bathroom. But tonight, she came out of the bathroom wearing her dark green robe, and then, in the dressing alcove, after taking her pajamas out of a drawer, she had removed her robe and slipped the gown on over her head. And he had watched. And she was beautiful. The smooth paleness of her skin, the gentle curves of her breasts and hips. And he'd felt something, deep inside, in the pit of his stomach. Some kind of longing for her that he didn't completely understand.

But he was glad that she was sleeping with him tonight.

She picked up a brush and began to run it through her hair. He loved her hair. He loved the color. It was like the picture of the old-fashioned coins he'd seen in one of his books. Copper. Like pennies.

She turned around and found him staring at her, and suddenly she felt self-conscious. She realized that she'd just changed in front of him, something that she'd really never done. At least, not since before... She drew in a deep breath, and smiled. "Are you tired?" she asked, setting her brush on the counter and crossing over to the bed.

Jean-Luc shook his head. He'd been tired a while ago, but now he wasn't tired at all.

"Well, I'm pretty sleepy," she said, reaching down and taking hold of the top of the blankets.

Getting the hint, Jean-Luc scooted off the bed so that she could pull the covers down. She slid underneath them and looked up at him. "Jean-Luc, are you coming to bed?"

He realized he was just standing there, staring at her. He suddenly felt nervous, but he nodded. "Yes... I... I am." He took off his own robe and laid it at the foot of the bed where his green blanket was folded. He didn't sleep with his blanket like he used to, but he still liked having it close by. Slowly, he pulled the covers down on his side of the bed and got in.

Beverly reached over and touched the controls on the bedside table, lowered the lights manually. In the dark, still silence, she could hear the sound of Jean-Luc's breathing, unusually deep and heavy. Something was different about tonight. The first few nights they'd slept wrapped in each other's arms, both needing to hold and be held. But now, neither of them made any move toward each other. And Beverly knew why. She felt the tension she'd created by undressing in front of Jean-Luc. She'd seen the expression on his face and in his eyes. He was seeing her now as a woman, his wife, something more than the person who simply took care of him.

Long minutes passed, and then the bed moved as Jean-Luc rolled toward her, onto his side. Beverly felt his hand touch her hip, then her waist, his long fingers sliding up over her stomach. He snuggled closer to her, his head moving onto her pillow, his lips pressing softly against her cheek, then her mouth. The shape of his lips felt familiar, but there was something different, a hesitancy, each small movement so tentative and unsure. His hand reached her breast and slid awkwardly inside the top of her gown. And Beverly tensed, abruptly pulled away, turning onto her side, her back to him. She could feel his chest against her shoulder, his heart beating faster than normal, the heat of his body next to her. And then, without a word, he moved back to his side of the bed, lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling.

Beverly didn't know what to say. She knew she had hurt and confused him. They needed to talk, but she didn't even know where to begin. Instead, she found herself making excuses.

"I'm tired, Jean," she whispered into the darkness, moving onto her back again. She could see the outline of his face and body from the corner of her eye. He was trembling.

He turned away from her, rolling onto his side, his back to her this time. He didn't say anything, but after a few moments his shoulders began to shake, and Beverly knew he was crying silent tears. She reached out with her fingers, longing to stroke the back of his head, but she found that she couldn't touch him. She'd hurt him enough for one night.

~vVv~

Their silence continued the next morning. They barely looked at each other over breakfast, and then, thankfully, Will arrived. He planned on taking Jean-Luc to the gym and reintroducing him to racquet ball. It was all Beverly could do not to laugh at the ironic absurdity of the situation. Exercise was exactly what Jean-Luc needed. And what she needed was a good long talk with Deanna .

"Beverly, what is it?"

Beverly stared up at the ceiling of the counselor's office for another long moment before lowering her gaze. But instead of looking Deanna in the eyes, she looked beyond her, unable to establish visual contact. "Last night..." she began hesitantly.

"Yes?" Deanna prompted.

Beverly took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "Last night..." She closed her eyes. Then opened them. It was no use running away from this. It was bound to become an issue sooner or later. And she did need Deanna's advice. "Jean-Luc... I think he wanted to make love."

"And?"

"Deanna!" Surely the counselor could see the problems inherent in this situation.

"Did you?"

"No! "

"Why not?" she asked calmly.

"Deanna, he... Jean-Luc's a..."

"A child?"

"No, I... I wasn't going to say that," she stammered, but then stopped herself. That was a lie. That had been exactly what she was going to say. Exactly what she felt. "He's like a child," she amended.

"But he's not a child, Beverly. He's a grown man, who loves you very much. And, apparently, now needs you to be something more than his doctor and his caregiver."

"But..."

"Beverly, you and he now share the same bed again. You can't expect him not to have those feelings for you."

Beverly thought for long seconds. "I could have the other bed moved back into our quarters."

Deanna looked at her knowingly. "You don't want that. And neither does Jean-Luc." She reached over and touched Beverly on the arm. "He wants you, Beverly. And although you're having a very difficult time admitting it, you want him just as much."

Beverly sighed. "Yes, a part of me does. A part of me wants him so badly that it..." She closed her eyes, felt herself trembling.

"That it hurts," Deanna completed her thought.

She looked back at her friend. "Yes. It hurts. But it also hurts every time I look at him and realize that he's not the same man I fell in love with. He may never be."

"Beverly, he's come so far, and I can't tell you that he's going to be the man he was before. But he is a man. Not a child. And it's all right to love him. Completely."

Beverly slowly looked up at Deanna. "I'm afraid," she admitted.

"I know. So is he." She smiled slightly. "You might as well be afraid together."

Beverly sighed and returned the counselor's smile. "Might as well."

~vVv~

She didn't want to make the first move. Didn't want to frighten or put any pressure on him. And he seemed to have forgotten. Their daily routine went along as it had for the past weeks. Breakfast, therapy, Sickbay, lunch, nap, therapy, tea, Sickbay, supper, reading, bath time...

He shrugged out of his clothes, has he had so many times before, and let them fall in a heap on the bathroom floor. He took hold of Beverly's hand so that she could steady him as he stepped into the tub, and he hesitated.

"It's not too hot, Jean-Luc," Beverly assured him, not even paying attention as she bent down to pick up his clothes.

"Beverly?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.

She looked up at him. Saw his desire written plainly in his eyes. The hand she held tightened around her fingers, and he lifted his other hand to her face, touched her cheek. "You... take a bath," he breathed, repeating the very words he'd spoken weeks earlier.

She drew in a deep breath, leaned into him, her lips touching his. "Yes, Jean-Luc, I'd love to take a bath."

~vVv~


	54. Chapter 54

Jean-Luc was sleeping, his head resting warm and heavy on her stomach, his arms draped loosely over her waist. Beverly softly rubbed her fingers along the side of his head, tracing the outline of his ear. She loved him so much, and tears filled her eyes at the intensity of her emotions for this man.

They had made love, and it had been beautiful, slow and gentle. There was still an awkwardness there, a hesitancy that Beverly had expected, but they would be all right. She knew that. He had allowed her to guide him, lead the way, his eyes so trusting and filled with love. There was a pure, honest simplicity to their lovemaking, and Beverly hoped they would never lose that quality.

Jean-Luc shifted, and yawned, his eyes opening. He turned his head, looked up at her, then slowly kissed his way along her stomach, between her breasts, until his head was even with hers on the pillow.

"I love you," he whispered.

Beverly held her hand to his cheek, gently kissed him. "I love you," she murmured.

And this time wasn't as hesitant.

~vVv~

"I don't want to take a nap," he complained after lunch the next day, barely managing to stifle a yawn at the same time.

"Jean-Luc," Beverly smiled at him slyly, "I think you need a nap. You didn't get much sleep last night."

"That's... just it," he stammered. "I'm... I'm not a... baby." He sat on the edge of his chair, his arms crossed tightly in front of him.

Beverly drew back at his words, afraid that something she'd said or done had led him to this denial. "Of course, you're not."

He stared at the table, the leftover crusts of bread on his plate, the half-empty glass of milk. "Children take naps," he insisted. "I'm not a child."

"No, you're not a child, Jean-Luc. But you are still recovering from an accident. And people who have been hurt also take naps. You know that."

He shook his head and stood up, walked purposefully toward the bedroom. Beverly followed.

He stopped at the foot of their bed, picked up his green blanket and thrust it at her. "I don't want this," he announced. His voice was firm, but Beverly noted that his jaw was trembling.

She took the blanket. "I see," she said softly, suddenly understanding what he was doing. "You think that your attachment to this blanket is childish."

He nodded and went over to the shelf by the viewport. "And I don't want this," he said, picking up the stuffed bear that sat there.

"Your nephew Rene gave you that."

Jean-Luc shook his head. "We'll... give it back."

"All right." Beverly took the bear from him. "What else needs to go?" she asked, realizing that Jean-Luc needed to make a physical break with many of the things that had given him comfort in the past months.

He went into the other room and located the stack of books on the coffee table. "These." He picked up the children's books that he hadn't read in quite some time.

Beverly shifted the blanket and bear under one arm and took the books from him. "I'll send these down to the school. They'll appreciate them."

She watched has Jean-Luc's hand hovered over the other objects on the table: the colored chalk and paper that had been a gift from Deanna all those months ago. She saw the uncertainty that crossed his face.

"I think you should keep those, Jean-Luc. The pictures you draw are beautiful."

He closed his hand and nodded in agreement. His art was something he didn't want to give up.

Leaving the chalk and paper where it was, he stepped away from the table and stood in the middle of the room, looking around, fairly satisfied that all remnants of childishness had been erased. Beverly went and deposited the items she held on the dining table, then turned and stared at Jean-Luc.

"That still leaves us with one problem, Jean-Luc." He frowned at her, confused. "You still need to take a nap."

He smiled and crossed the distance between them, took her hands in his. "Only if you take one with me. After all, I wasn't the only one who didn't get much sleep last night."

~vVv~

He still had trouble remembering people. Communication tapes would come from Earth, from Wesley, or Robert and Marie and Rene. And Beverly would have to explain again who these people were, how they were related to him, the experiences he'd shared with them. Sometimes the memories would come back to him quickly, but at other times, there was still a confusion.

Every night after supper, Beverly had started a new routine. She would take out one of Jean-Luc's photo albums and they would sit together on the couch looking at the pictures. There were images of his parents, of him and Robert as children, of fellow cadets at Starfleet.

And pictures of Jack, and Walker, and Beverly all those years ago.

Those images had been difficult to explain. And although Jean-Luc seemed to understand the intricate relationships, Beverly was never quite sure.

The pictures that seemed to interest him the most, however, were those of his mother.

"I... I think I remember her," he said one evening as he flipped the pages of the album.

Beverly smiled at him over the edge of her teacup. "What do you remember?"

Jean-Luc leaned back against the cushions, thinking, trying to sift through the jumble of emotions that her picture evoked. "I remember... she always smelled of lavender." He ran his fingers over his mother's photograph. "And... her eyes... They were so bright." He swallowed around the lump that had formed in his throat, his own eyes brightening with tears.

Beverly set her cup on the coffee table and reached out, squeezed Jean-Luc's shoulder. "You miss her," she explained.

Confusion clouded his face. "But I can barely remember her. How can I miss her?"

"Sometimes it's not the actual memory of people that you miss. Sometimes it's just a feeling, the essence of who they were, and what they meant to you." Beverly sighed. "I feel that way about my mother. I was so young when she died. I don't really remember her, but I do remember the feeling of loving her and being with her."

Jean-Luc stared down at the photo album. "I wish..." His voice trailed off.

"What?" Beverly prompted gently.

He looked up at her. "I wish... I could see Maman again."

Beverly squeezed his shoulder tighter. "Perhaps you can."

~vVv~


	55. Chapter 55

Two nights later, as Jean-Luc was taking out one of the photo albums, Beverly surprised him with a suggestion.

"How about a walk on the holodeck?"

He looked at her, always a little unsure of any change in their routine.

She stepped over to him and took hold of his hands. "There's someone who would like to see you."

~vVv~

He held tightly to her left hand as she keyed in the holodeck program with her right one. He'd been here many times before, but he knew that this time was different somehow. And although Beverly was with him, he was a little nervous and frightened.

The large portal slid open, and cool evening air wafted out of the enclosed space. Before them was a well-manicured garden, fragrant with spring flowers. Large old oak trees spread out above them. Jean-Luc smiled. He knew this place.

Slowly, he and Beverly stepped inside.

And that's when he saw her, sitting in a wrought iron chair at the far end of the garden.

Beverly let go of his hand, and he walked toward the woman's out-stretched arms. Beverly followed, stayed close to him; she could see his eyes fill with tears, and he swallowed convulsively.

"Maman?" It was barely a whisper, as if sound would shatter the fragile illusion.

But when the old woman spoke, her voice was loud, firm, yet loving. "Come to me, Jean-Luc." And she opened her arms wider.

Jean-Luc knelt beside her, and she pulled him to her, wrapped him securely in a long ago forgotten warmth, her hand gently rubbing his back as she held him.

Beverly sat down in a chair, could see that Jean-Luc's shoulders were shaking, could hear the muffled sound of his sobs as he cried in his mother's arms. The woman placed her cheek against his head, kissed him softly, then looked up at the doctor. "Thank you… for bringing my son to me." She reached one hand out and Beverly took hold of it, felt the thin fingers squeeze hers.

Yvette Picard held her son for a long time, and he let her, until finally he relaxed into a sitting position, leaned against her legs, and fell asleep in her lap. Beverly watched as Yvette drew a handkerchief from her dress pocket and tenderly wiped the traces of tears from Jean-Luc's eyes and cheeks.

"He was a good boy," she whispered in soft accented tones, her own eyes shining with pride.

Beverly smiled. "He's a good man."

"But troubled." The woman frowned slightly.

"Yes," she nodded, "he's been injured. He has trouble remembering things."

Yvette looked down at the sleeping man, the expression on his face peaceful now. "But he remembers his maman." She rubbed her small knotted hand over the back of his neck. "And even starship captains need their mamans sometimes."

Beverly thought of Wesley and knew the depth of love the woman felt for Jean-Luc, knew that the love was real even if the holographic image of Yvette Picard was not.

~vVv~

"Jean-Luc." She gently shook him awake. He groaned.

"It's time to go, Jean."

Around them, the French countryside had become quiet and shadowed with the approaching twilight; stars were beginning to wink in the dark violet haze beyond the trees. Jean-Luc shivered. The air had grown cooler, and Beverly wished she had a jacket to wrap around him. She gathered him closer. Yvette had left moments before, carefully moving Jean-Luc's body into the doctor's arms.

_"I can't say goodbye to him," she whispered hoarsely, her hand lingering against his cheek. She leaned over and kissed him. "You take care of my son."_

_"I will," Beverly promised, sitting on the ground beside him, cradling his head on her shoulder._

_And then the old woman was gone, disappearing into the overgrown garden that surrounded them._

"Maman?" Jean-Luc's voice was husky with sleep.

"She's gone." His body felt hot in her arms, and Beverly stroked her hand over his forehead checking for a fever. He was warm. "Let's go, Jean-Luc. It's getting cold out here."

He looked up at her with tired, hooded eyes. "I remembered her." There was a ghost of a smile on his face.

Beverly smiled back. "Yes, you did."

Jean-Luc straightened, and she drew her arms away, stood up, helped him to his feet.

"Exit," Beverly called, and the portal groaned open before them. She started to lead him towards it, but he grabbed hold of her hand, stopped her.

"Beverly?" He licked his lips. "I... I didn't get to talk to her."

She touched his cheek. "You can next visit. This time there were more important matters to take care of."

~vVv~


	56. Chapter 56

He wasn't eating - just merely pushing the food around on his plate. Beverly knew it wasn't because he didn't like what they were having for supper. Salmon and asparagus were two of his favorites. No. There was something bothering him. But she wasn't sure what it could be. Things had been going rather smoothly for the past few days. But now that she really thought about it, things had been going almost too smoothly. Jean-Luc did everything that was asked of him with no complaints. And no suggestions of his own. Almost like an automaton, following a set program.

"Jean-Luc?"

He shifted his eyes from the plate of food in front of him.

"What's wrong?" Beverly asked.

"Nothing."

"Why aren't you eating? You love salmon and asparagus."

Jean-Luc shrugged his shoulders. "I guess... I'm just not hungry."

"Hey, remember who you're talking to. You can't fool me." She leaned over and placed her hand on top of his. "What is it?"

Jean-Luc grimaced slightly and looked back down at the table. "I'm... I'm tired, Beverly."

Somehow she knew he didn't mean physically tired. Even with the occasional nightmares, she still made sure he got enough sleep.

"Tired of what?"

He pulled his hand away from hers, let go of the fork he was holding. Then he rubbed his eyes with his fingers, letting his head prop against his palm. "You... go to work. And all I do is... nothing."

"Wait a minute. You do a lot more than nothing. Think about all the things you've been learning in the past weeks. Seems to me you've been doing more work than I have."

He frowned and shook his head. "But it's not real work, not like..." His voice trailed off.

"Not like what?"

He took a deep breath. "I... I used to wear that... uniform that's hanging in there." He cast a glance toward the bedroom.

Beverly nodded. "Yes, you did. Do you remember that?"

He looked up at her, his eyes focused and intense. "I remember some things," he said, his voice steady and sure. "I did what Will does now."

"That's right." She rubbed her hand on his arm. "You were the captain before you were hurt."

She noticed a slight tremor run along his jawline; his eyes glistened.

"I want... to be the captain again," he said slowly.

Beverly felt herself beginning to shake. She'd known this moment would come, this glimpse of who he had been, and who he wanted to be again. And he was coming back to them. More and more every day. But Jean-Luc Picard and _Captain _Jean-Luc Picard were still two different people. He'd just barely become the first, and the latter was still not a certainty.

But she wouldn't lie to him. "Jean-Luc, I want you to be the captain again, too. You were..." She gazed into his hazel green eyes. "You were an excellent captain." She reached up and stroked her hand over his head, down along the back of his neck. "But you know that you were hurt very badly. That you have forgotten a lot of things, and..." She licked her lips. "And you've had to remember a lot. You still have... a ways to go."

He nodded, swallowed convulsively. "I know." His voice was hoarse. "I... I still have a lot... to remember. But after I... remember it, what about then?"

"Then... we'll talk about it again, all right?" She could see the hope in his eyes, his tenuous hold on a far distant prize. She couldn't promise him that he would win the race he was running now, but she would never stop him from reaching toward that goal.

"All right." He leaned forward and let her hold him for a few seconds. He'd learned that sometimes Beverly needed to hold him even more than he needed to be held.

When they pulled apart, Jean-Luc saw a trace of worry in her eyes. "What?" he questioned.

"I think it's time you talked to Deanna about your nightmares."

He didn't want to. He didn't even want to think about them. But he knew she was right. He would have to confront them someday. And if he were really going to be the captain again, he would have to deal with those memories of what had happened to him. Whatever that was.

~vVv~

She went with him to Deanna's office the next morning. And she promised she would stay with him. Although a part of him wished he could do this on his own, a larger part couldn't bear the idea of not having Beverly beside him. And somehow, she understood.

"Just remember, Jean-Luc," she said before they entered the counselor's office, "a step at a time."

Deanna was pleased to see them. She and Beverly had talked the night before after Jean-Luc had gone to sleep. They both agreed that the first session should only be a discussion, a sharing of information regarding Jean-Luc's disappearance. Hypnosis and drug therapy might be involved in later sessions, but they would start slowly.

Deanna could sense how frightened he was when they came into her office. It was all he could do to keep from grabbing hold of Beverly's hand. And Beverly knew. So when they sat down on the sofa, she was careful to sit so close to him that her thigh touched his. He relaxed a bit at the physical contact.

Deanna smiled over at him. "Beverly explained to me that you think you're ready to start talking about your nightmares."

Jean-Luc nodded. "I..." He took a deep breath. "I am ready."

"That's good. I thought that Beverly and I might tell you a little about the events leading up to your mission to Trastor Nine, and see if you remember anything. How does that sound?"

"All right," Jean-Luc replied quietly.

Deanna's gaze shifted to the doctor. "Why don't you start, Beverly?"

Beverly thought for a moment. "Well, I remember that I was a little... upset about this mission. I wasn't allowed to go. In fact," she leaned into Jean-Luc's arm, "you and I had a long discussion about it. You said that new wives weren't permitted. That it was a diplomatic mission and I would be a... Oh, how did you put it? A definite distraction to diplomacy."

Jean-Luc smiled despite his nervousness. "I said that?"

Beverly squeezed his arm. "Yes, you said that."

"I... I don't remember."

"Do you remember preparing for the mission?" Deanna asked.

Jean-Luc squinted his eyes, his forehead creasing in thought. "I remember some things. Just... just Will and I went. And we took a shuttle."

Deanna nodded. "Um-um, that's right. The Trastorians don't use transporters and you thought it best not to use them. I remember you and Will were looking forward to piloting the shuttle. I think it made the mission seem a little more adventurous. And Worf wanted to send a security guard, but-"

"I wouldn't let him," Jean-Luc finished her sentence.

Deanna smiled, pleased that he'd remembered. "No, you wouldn't. You didn't want the Trastorians to feel as if Starfleet were invading." She glanced at Beverly and then continued. "You and Will left on the shuttle together. Everything was going according to plan until the shuttle's main thruster gave out." She studied Jean-Luc for any signs that he remembered the incident. "Will told me that you weren't able to compensate, and there wasn't even time to contact the ship before impact."

Jean-Luc listened to the counselor's words. But that's all they were. Just words. He could find no images or memories within his mind that fit what she was saying. When he thought about his nightmares, all he could remember were the voices that screamed, and the wind, and the cold, and the trees. Will, and the shuttle, and the accident meant almost nothing to him. As if it had been someone else who had gone on that mission. He shook his head dejectedly.

"I can't remember." He sighed and rubbed his hand over his forehead.

Beverly wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "What can you remember, Jean-Luc? When you wake up from your nightmares, what can you remember about them?"

He closed his eyes and swallowed, felt Beverly take hold of his hand. "There... are voices. They keep screaming. I... I don't know what they're saying, or if they're saying anything at all. And it's cold, and... I'm looking for someone... And the trees..." He gasped as the images appeared behind his eyelids, and he opened his eyes quickly, blinked rapidly to make the memories go away.

Deanna leaned forward and placed a hand on his knee. "It's all right. You're doing just fine."

He shook his head. "I... I don't think I can do this." He turned his eyes toward Beverly, an expression of guilt and remorse on his face. "I'm sorry, Beverly."

She rubbed one hand over his back, stroked his temple with the other one. "Shh. There's no need to be sorry. Deanna's right. You're doing just fine."

"But I... Damn it!" He struck his knee with his fist. "I can't remember." Sudden tears filled his eyes.

"Jean-Luc," Deanna said his name sharply, causing him to look back at her. "Don't worry. We're just talking right now. If you remember, or don't remember, it doesn't make any difference."

He sighed and ran the back of his hand over his eyes.

Deanna squeezed his knee. "All right?"

He nodded and gave her a half smile.

"You were missing for almost three weeks," Deanna continued with the facts. "Starfleet listed you as officially missing, presumed dead."

Jean-Luc tensed at her words.

"But that's when Will received a message from the governor of Trastor Nine," Beverly jumped in. "A man fitting your description had been found wandering on the grounds of one of their medical centers."

"Me?" Jean-Luc said softly.

"Yes. It was you. Deanna and Data and I went to get you. You didn't know who we were. You'd been beaten severely. You didn't talk; you barely ate."

Jean-Luc's gaze focused on the far wall of the office. He just couldn't remember. They might as well have been talking about someone else.

Sensing his growing anxiety, Deanna sat back in her chair. "Well, I think we've talked enough for one morning."

Jean-Luc shifted his eyes toward her. "But..."

Beverly gave his shoulders a hug. "Jean-Luc, remember what I said?"

He looked at her and couldn't help smiling. "A step at a time."

~vVv~


	57. Chapter 57

**Author's Note:** Sorry to make readers wait for each chapter now, but real life and fiction writing are catching up with each other and real life is winning! This chapter is short, but the only other option is to stop posting altogether, and I'd like to keep adding to the story when possible. So, thanks for still reading and understanding! JT

"I'll never learn." Jean-Luc dropped the chess piece on the table and sighed.

Reaching out, Guinan took Jean-Luc's bishop and set it upright on the top level of the chess board. "You're not learning," she reminded him. "You're remembering."

"Not very well," he frowned, his eyes rolling up toward the ceiling. They'd only been playing for fifteen minutes, and already he was growing tired of the game. Beverly had told him that it used to be one of his favorite pastimes, but he was seriously beginning to doubt it. He just couldn't understand the intricate moves and strategies.

"You don't have to play if you're not enjoying it," Guinan said evenly, her eyes studying him across the board.

Jean-Luc straightened unconsciously, then leaned forward. "No, no. I'm... I'm having a good time. I... I like chess."

"Who told you that?" Guinan seemed to stare through him. "Beverly?"

"She's... helping me remember who I was," Jean-Luc explained.

Guinan was silent for several moments, and then she spoke. "What about discovering who you are right now?"

"What... do you mean?" he questioned.

"I mean that just because you used to like something, doesn't mean you still have to like it. You're trying so hard to become who you used to be, that you're not paying enough attention to who you are. "

Jean-Luc turned his face away from her and stared out the viewport. "I don't like who I am right now."

"Well, there's your problem."

He sighed. "Great. All I need is another problem."

"It all depends on how you look at it. Problems can sometimes be opportunities in disguise."

Jean-Luc looked back at her, confusion etched upon his face. He wasn't sure if he understood what she was saying. And Guinan sensed his puzzlement.

"Who you are – right now – is a unique, distinct individual. Perhaps you can't remember all of your past, and, of course, the future is always a bit of a mystery, but here and now is an opportunity for exploration, for looking both within and without, for discovering your own likes and dislikes, interests and non-interests – a time for becoming _you_ – not just being a shadow of a memory." Guinan leaned back in her chair, continuing to gaze intently at him across the multi-level chess board. "Yes, who you are right now isn't the same man you were a year ago, nor is he the same man you will be a year from now. But he is you, Jean-Luc, and I've never known you to turn away from an exploratory mission."

One eyebrow rose. "Exploratory mission?" he murmured.

"Discovering who you are – not just who you were."

He nodded his head slowly, looking back out at the stars again. Every time he looked out a viewport those stars seemed a little more familiar, a little more comforting. He didn't seem quite as lost anymore, and yet he didn't seem quite found either.

And now, he wasn't sure what he was looking for… or whom.

He was quiet, and Guinan sat across from him, no longer talking, just being with him, a calm presence that seemed right… as if she'd been there for a long time. And although he couldn't remember, he knew, instinctively, that she always had been.

After a while, he looked back at her, and then down at the board. "So… I don't have to like chess?"

She shook her head. "Not a requirement."

He reached out and touched the point of the bishop. "But I can still remember it if I want?"

"They're your memories, Jean-Luc. You can keep the ones you want, and let others go." Her dark eyes met his again.

"There are some memories I can't reach," he breathed, a familiar feeling of fear washing over him.

And Guinan laid a hand on his arm. "They'll still be there… when you're ready for them."

~vVv~


	58. Chapter 58

The scream ripped into the dark peacefulness of Beverly's sleep and tore her awake. Her eyes snapped open, and she pushed herself up off the pillow, instinctively turning towards Jean-Luc's side of the bed. He was sitting straight up, his entire body tense with fear, his breathing shallow and labored. Slowly, Beverly leaned toward him, touched her fingers to his back. His pajama shirt was damp with cold perspiration.

"Jean-Luc," she spoke his name softly, not wanting to startle him.

He seemed to regain some sense of awareness at that moment, for his head turned, and in the faint starlight of the room, she could see his eyes meet hers, tears tracing down his cheeks.

Abruptly, he pulled away from her, threw the blankets back and got out of bed. Without a word of explanation, he hurried into the bathroom.

Beverly sighed, her hand falling onto his side of the bed. The wetness she felt there explained his actions. The more he regained a sense of who he was, the more he was embarrassed by any physical setbacks. Even with her.

She wanted to go to him immediately and assure him that everything was all right. But she stopped herself. He wouldn't want that. At least, not right at that moment. So instead, she got up and proceeded to strip the bed and remake it. Several minutes later, when she was done with her task, her thoughts returned to Jean-Luc. He was still in the bathroom and had given her no indication that he planned on coming out any time soon. She went over to the dresser and took out a pair of his pajamas, then she knocked softly on the door.

"Jean-Luc, are you all right?"

At first, there was silence, and then a muffled reply. "I'm fine."

Beverly drew in a deep breath. "May I come in?"

There was no answer.

"I have some pajamas for you."

She waited. And then the door slid open. He stood before her, his body shaking.

"Jean..." She reached out for him, but he stepped back.

"Don't... don't say it's all right," he mumbled, his voice heavy with emotion. "It's... it's not."

She nodded. "Okay. I won't say it's all right, even if it is."

Jean-Luc groaned slightly and reached out for the clothing she held.

Beverly gave it to him. "Can I help you?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No. I can manage." He stepped back into the dark bathroom, and the door slid closed between them.

Beverly stood there, staring at the door for several seconds, and then returned to the bed. She crawled wearily under the covers and waited.

Long minutes passed, and then she heard the hiss of the door opening, then Jean-Luc's soft footfalls as he padded across the carpeted deck. The bed moved as he got in, settled himself under the blankets, his back to her. He was being so careful to stay on his side.

Beverly moved towards him, gently curling her body around his, enveloping him in her warmth, her arms closing over his shoulders and chest. He stiffened, started to pull away. But she held on.

"Shh," she soothed, her lips against his ear.

Still, he resisted. "Beverly," he protested, trying to move her arms away from him.

"No," she insisted, holding him tighter. "You will not pull away from me." She kissed his cheek, felt him relax slightly. "I love you, Jean-Luc."

He was quiet and still for several seconds as his discomfort eased. She felt his body relax further into her embrace, his breathing growing slower and deeper.

"I love you," he finally murmured. And with a contented sigh, he fell asleep in her arms.

~vVv~


	59. Chapter 59

All of his memories of who he was before the accident finally returned to him. He remembered his childhood, his years at the Academy; he remembered Jack and Walker. He remembered his life on the _Stargazer_, and the tragedies he'd experienced there. He remembered taking command of the _Enterprise_, their encounter with the Borg, his mindmelds with Sarek and Spock. But, most important of all, he remembered his wedding day.

"You wore light green," he whispered, snuggling closer to Beverly in their bed, brushing his fingers softly over her cheek. "And you were beautiful."

"And you were nervous as hell," she replied with a grin.

He chuckled. "Yes, I was. Will claimed that I almost fainted in the corridor outside Ten Forward. And he was right; I almost did."

"Well, if I remember correctly, you looked like a pillar of strength to me." Beverly ran her hands along his shoulders, enjoying the feel of the solid muscles under his bare skin.

"Looks can be deceiving," he smiled, pulling her closer to him, sighing with contentment.

They held each other in silence for long minutes, and then Jean-Luc spoke.

"I have to remember the rest, Beverly." His voice was low and husky.

"You will," she assured him. He'd only been having memory sessions with Deanna for a little over two weeks. They were still "discussing things."

"Now," he insisted.

Beverly drew back slightly, stared into his eyes. "You're talking about drug therapy, aren't you?" She and Deanna hadn't used any drugs in the past weeks. Even though he still couldn't remember what had happened to him, he'd recalled so many other memories. Perhaps they'd both been putting it off, saving it as a last resort.

She rubbed her fingers over his forehead, smoothed away the creases. "Why now, Jean?"

He closed his eyes for a second. She could feel him tremble. And then he looked back at her. "I... I want her back."

Beverly knew immediately what he was talking about. It wasn't a person he wanted back; it was the _Enterprise_. She drew in a deep breath, brushed at the tears that had gathered suddenly around his eyes.

"I... I remember who I was," he continued, "and I know who I am now. I want her back, Beverly."

She pulled him close again, ran her hand along the back of his head and neck. "I know," she murmured. "I know."

He clung to her. "All I have to do now is remember what happened, and then deal with it."

Beverly blinked back the tears in her own eyes. She was worried that his remembering what had happened and dealing with it would be too much for him to handle. She'd finally gotten him back, and now she was so afraid of losing him again.

~vVv~

They discussed it with Deanna, and the counselor agreed with Jean-Luc's request. "If he feels that he's ready, we have to let him try," she explained to Beverly when they were alone. "We'll both be there for him, and we can bring him out of it if we need to."

"I know," Beverly conceded, still frightened, but recognizing the importance of their next step in Jean-Luc's recovery. "And once he remembers, it still won't be over."

Deanna nodded. "The competency tests won't be easy. But we'll make sure he's ready for them before we give our consent."

~vVv~

While Deanna and Beverly sat in the counselor's office discussing the plans for his immediate future, Jean-Luc had excused himself and gone down to Holodeck Three. He'd requested that Will meet him there, and the Curtis Creek program was already running when he stepped inside. He found his former First Officer sitting on the ground next to the water's edge. Jean-Luc sat down beside him.

"No fishing pole?" he asked, noticing that Will's hands were empty.

The younger man shook his head. "I figured you wanted to talk, not fish."

Jean-Luc sighed. "You know me well. And after the past several months, you probably know me too well."

Will inclined his head slightly. "I know what I've always known. You're a strong person, Jean-Luc Picard. And a fine leader." He reached out and laid a hand on Jean-Luc's shoulder. "She's yours whenever you're ready for her, Captain."

Jean-Luc closed his eyes and swallowed, his throat constricting tightly. Then he opened his eyes and glanced sideways at Will. "I still have to finish my therapy and pass Starfleet's competency tests."

Will smiled encouragingly. "A mere formality."

Jean-Luc tried to return his smile, but only managed a half grin. "We'll see." He stared out at the rushing mountain stream for several seconds. "You've taken good care of her, Will."

"She was in fine shape when I got her."

Jean-Luc nodded. "She's a good ship, and you've done well in that center seat."

Will shrugged off the compliment with a self-deprecating shake of his head. "I was just keeping it warm, sir."

~vVv~


End file.
